Stockholm Syndrome Works Both Ways
by ozhawk
Summary: Skye is kidnapped by ex-HYDRA mercenary Brock Rumlow, on instructions from her father and Ward. Isolated with him, she discovers he has a very strange secret... Eventual M rating but a slow build.
1. Taking The Job

**Chapter One – Taking The Job**

Grant Ward couldn't look into Brock Rumlow's golden eyes. Not for long. He'd known the other man before SHIELD fell, not well – Rumlow had kicked his ass on the training mats as a rookie recruit a few times, and Garrett had spoken highly of him – but this Rumlow was a very different animal.

Ward shuddered as he thought of just how appropriate that analogy was. He'd heard how badly Rumlow had been injured in the Triskelion wreckage. He'd been barely alive when Whitehall got hold of him. A perfect, expendable subject for Whitehall's experiments. And then the Doctor had joined in, added further modifications.

Somehow, Ward didn't think there were going to be many volunteers for the process which had transformed Rumlow into something other than entirely human. Not considering the side effects.

Cal wasn't afraid of Rumlow. Ward wasn't sure Cal was sane enough to be afraid of anything, though, so that wasn't saying much. The Doctor stood there looking directly into Rumlow's golden eyes, detailing the mission calmly.

"Seven to ten days. Long enough for Ward and I to throw off any possible tails, and long enough for her to become very afraid of you and very relieved when we come to collect her."

Rumlow nodded silently.

"But you don't touch her." Ward nerved himself to look into those eyes for a few moments. "You touch her, you don't get paid."

"You mean sexually, obviously." Rumlow's voice was a low rasp, but his tone was calm. "I'm going to have to touch her to move her."

"Yes, sexually. She's _mine_." Ward hated the fact that his voice cracked on the last word. But he clenched his teeth and met Rumlow's golden gaze until the other man inclined his head slightly.

"I understand." Rumlow returned his attention to Cal. "You have the email address? It will be the only way to reach me."

"I have it, but I still don't see why you won't give us the co-ordinates…"

"Do you not?"

Even Cal looked away then.

Rumlow had left HYDRA after Whitehall's death. Gone merc. No one had dared to stop him. They'd sent one squad to hunt him down and kill him, and Rumlow had sent them back in pieces.

_Literally_ in pieces.

After that HYDRA left him alone. The man disappeared off the map, only contactable via a _very_ dark hole on the DeepWeb _if_ you could afford his services.

However, when Cal and Ward came up with the plan, Rumlow was the only person they could think of who would be able to do the necessary part of hiding Skye – _Daisy, remember to call her Daisy_ – until they were ready to come for her, and suitably terrorising her, without actually being HYDRA. Which they weren't. They'd both cut ties after Whitehall's death.

"When you make the call, and I confirm the second third of the money is in my account, I will deliver the package," Rumlow said quietly. "At which point you make payment of the final third and we all go our separate ways."

Ward nodded grudgingly. The first third of the agreed fee – half a million dollars – had already been paid. He had no idea where Cal planned to get the other million, but he did know that trying to cheat Rumlow out of his money would be signing their own death warrants.

"We're ready, then?" Cal said, offering a hand for Rumlow to shake. The mercenary hesitated before taking it.

Rumlow didn't care for either of the two men. Ward was an arrogant little prick with a weird fixation on this girl, and the fact that she was the Doctor's daughter and the other man was aiding and abetting Ward's obsession didn't quite sit right with Rumlow.

That said, money was money, and this job was far less revolting than many he'd done, before and after becoming a mercenary.

And – perhaps he owed the Doctor a debt. A small one. After Whitehall's experimental treatments had worked – apparently, he was the only survivor of many, _many_ test subjects – Whitehall had wanted to dissect him. The Doctor had convinced him Rumlow was more interesting as a live specimen.

So, a small debt. It justified his decision to take the job, even if he didn't care for it much. So he shook Cal's hand, sneered as Ward didn't offer his, and stood. "Time to go."

**So this is the were-Brock fic that I've been pestered so desperately after suggesting it in You Need To Trust Me. He's partnered with Skye in this one, though it's not a soulmates fic and he's not precisely a were either – all will become clear in later chapters!**

**I will put another chapter up tomorrow and then one every day or so. I have 15 chapters written so far and I'm thinking there will be probably about 25 total so hopefully I will be able to keep up the daily posting.**

**There will be smut – eventually – but it's a slow build, this one. Hang in there and keep reading (and commenting. I love comments. Comments make me happeeee…)**

**Oh, and if you're reading on Ao3, yes, there will be a yummy Frank Grillo picture in every chapter, many of them unseen before as I screencap myself from **_**Kingdom**_** – and maybe from CA:TWS or **_**The Purge: Anarchy**_** too, if I get time…**


	2. Awakening

**Chapter Two – Awakening**

Skye woke slowly, blinking her eyes open. Staring up at the ceiling in confusion. It was rough wooden planks, not the plain white paint of her room at the Playground, nor the smooth grey panels of the Bus.

_Where the fuck am I?_

Her arms were flung up beside her head and a little numb; she tried to bring them down and to her horror heard a clink of chain. She thrashed, twisting, and screamed when she realised that she was chained to a bed, heavy shackles around both wrists and ankles.

"No! Ward, you bastard, NO!" Only one man would have done this to her. She didn't remember – she didn't remember a damned thing about how she'd got here, wherever _here_ was.

_Did he already rape me? How long have I been here?_ She craned her neck to look down. Black leggings, bright purple socks, a white vest top and her favourite denim shirt over it. Minus her boots, that was the outfit she remembered putting on that morning before going to work in her office.

_Was it this morning?_

Skye screamed again, furious this time. "Ward! You bastard, get in here!" _Wherever here is_. She looked around as best she could. It was a small room, a single door – rough timber as well. The windowless walls were whitewashed. There was no furniture that she could see besides the bed – which was a comfortable queen size with wrought-iron head and foot, to which she was chained. _All the better to rape me on_. She shuddered. _I'll kill him first_. All she'd need was to get one hand on his skin and she could quake him until his black heart stopped.

Heavy boots sounded outside the door and she tensed, preparing herself to face the man she once thought she'd loved, and now hated with everything that was in her. The door opened, and she opened her mouth to spit vitriol – and stared.

Because the man who entered was tall, dark and handsome, but he wasn't Grant Ward.

"Who the fuck are you?" Skye said in complete astonishment.

A slight smile cracked his stubbled face. "The name's Brock Rumlow, princess." He paused, as though that should mean something to her. Raised a black eyebrow over one oddly coloured yellow-gold eye when she looked blank. "Thought you were SHIELD?"

"I am."

"And yet you've never heard my name. Curious." He leaned negligently against the wall, folding thickly muscled arms over a broad chest.

Skye just blinked in complete bemusement. "If you're over your little ego disappointment that I don't know who you are," she said acidly at last, "would you care to tell me what the fuck's going on?"

Rumlow actually had to laugh. Damn, she was a feisty little thing, even chained to a bed. Pretty, too, he couldn't deny Ward had good taste. Her dark eyes snapped with rage as he chuckled softly.

"Sorry, princess. Just finding the attitude amusing, given your predicament."

Skye was silenced, temporarily. And then he produced a key, holding it up.

"If I let you out, are you going to be trouble?"

"Yes. I'm going to kill your ass and then I'm going to kill anyone else I find around here, shake this place to the ground and _leave_," she snapped in complete honesty.

He smiled again, showing even white teeth. "All highly unwise courses of action. Addressing your last point first – if you shake this place to the ground, you'll be without shelter in a very unforgiving part of the world. The second point is moot as there's no one else around but you and I. And if you kill me, well, you'll be stranded in said unforgiving part of the world."

"Which is where?" Skye asked.

He only smiled maddeningly. Dangled the key. "Still going to be trouble?"

"Would you really trust me if I said I wasn't?"

Rumlow tilted his head. _She's intriguing. Smart as a whip with a tongue like a blade_. "I trust that you're smart enough not to kill me before you've checked whether or not I've told you the truth."

She glared at him, but the logic was inarguable. She could, after all, kill him any time she could get a hand on him. Which apparently he knew.

"I won't make trouble until I've seen if you're telling the truth."

_And after that, all bets are off._

Rumlow only nodded, and Skye had the unnerving feeling he'd read her mind. "Right you are, princess." And he stepped forward and bent to unlock the shackles on her ankles.

"And stop calling me that," she said grumpily. He leaned across her to unfasten her wrists.

"Sorry. Daisy."

"Definitely don't call me _that_!" her rage spiked and the bed shook slightly. Rumlow stepped back before unfastening the shackles, looked down at her with that black eyebrow raised again. "So you _are_ working with Cal." Skye concentrated on breathing deeply, finding her centre.

"That's a reasonable assumption. I'm sorry, I understood that was your name."

"It's not. My name is Skye."

He had _really_ unnerving eyes, Skye decided as he only watched her for a minute or two. She'd never seen eyes that colour on another person. They were yellow-gold, almost metallic, not whisky-brown or even amber. And then he stepped in and reached to unlock her shackles again, moving back with unhurried grace.

She brought her wrists down slowly, rubbed at them, eyeing him warily. Sat up when he merely leant back against the wall again.

"So since I'm assuming you're not a serial killer rapist – dangerous assumption though that may be – what am I doing here?"

A slight smile quirked his mouth again. "Waiting." He gestured towards the door. "Be my guest. Take a look around."

"Oh, you first." He might not have hurt her yet, but she really didn't trust him at her back. He shrugged his shoulders and opened the door, walked out. Skye scrambled off the bed and followed.

Another room, larger but no less rustic than the bedroom. It was a cabin, Skye realised, probably entirely timber-built, despite the whitewashed walls. There was a wood stove, a thick wool rug on the timber floor in front of it, and a two-seater couch. A small wooden table with a single chair. An open door stood opposite, through which she could see a small kitchen. There were two more doors, and with a glance at Rumlow who was standing passively in the middle of the room, Skye went to look. A simple bathroom was through the first and closest. The second led outside.

"Holy shit."

**I'm not going to attempt to photoshop them into my Frank Grillo pictures (he's too yummy to mess with). But this is how I imagine Brock's eyes look in this story…**


	3. Isolation

**Chapter Three – Isolation**

Skye found herself standing on the porch of a rustic timber cabin. And all around was nothing but sheer, utter wilderness. Tall evergreens stretched to the blue sky on two sides: on the third, a wild, untamed landscape spilled out below her, a rolling valley with a river tumbling along rough rocks at its base. There was absolutely no sign of anything resembling human habitation. Not so much as a farm animal in sight.

She hurried to the side of the porch, uncaring of the rough timber that snagged at her socks. Looked up behind the cabin and saw only more trees, backed by unforgiving, high, snow-capped mountains.

Rumlow had come out and stood leaning on the rail at the front of the porch while she stared in silence. When she turned back and looked at him, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Nowhere to run, Skye. No shelter but this, and no one but me to get you out of here. So don't do anything rash, now."

"Where _is_ this?" Skye had never seen anything like this in her life. She was a child of the cities, and while May and Hunter had trained her in some basic wilderness skills, she'd never seen anything like this. _This would intimidate Bear Grylls, never mind me_, she thought irreverently, feeling suddenly very small.

He only gave her that maddening smile again, and she turned to look away, down that wild valley, scanning frantically for _some_ sign of human life.

"You won't find anything, Skye. There's no other people within fifty miles."

"Alaska?"

"I'm not going to tell you, so don't keep asking."

"It could be Alaska. Canada, maybe."

"Or Russia. Argentina, even the wilder parts of New Zealand."

He was _laughing_ at her, the bastard. Skye clenched her fists, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off his face.

"Kill me and you won't last a week," Rumlow warned softly. "Destroy the cabin and I might be able to keep you alive a little longer, but I can't swear to it."

She just stood there, her small fists clenched, dark eyes full of impotent rage. And then she leapt down the porch steps and took off running towards the trees, a helpless sob bursting out of her.

He stood there, calmly leaning on the porch rail, and watched as a few trees took the brunt of her wrath.

It was almost an hour later when she came walking back towards the cabin and stood at the foot of the porch steps looking up at him.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Me? Nothin'," he shrugged. "We just have to wait." His orders were to intimidate her, to have her so terrified of him that she'd be grateful when Ward came for her. But Rumlow somehow didn't think Skye scared easy. And he'd seen the look in her eyes when she looked out at his valley; she was an urban creature. The wilderness alone would do its work on her mind, the isolation would have her grateful for any company within a matter of days, he suspected.

"Wait for what?" Even as he spoke, Skye was taking in her surroundings, calculating options. She'd seen a couple of things of interest as she returned to the cabin. First, there were solar panels on the roof, which meant it wasn't quite as rustic as it appeared. And second, there was a small satellite dish.

A satellite meant communications. Which meant something she could hack. She just needed to find it.

"You know what for, princess." He couldn't resist calling her that, just to see her dark eyes flash again. "You were callin' his name."

"_Ward_," she spat it. "What hold does he have over you? We can stop him, whatever it is…"

"He's paying me a million dollars, princess."

Skye's mouth fell open. Where the _hell_ was Ward getting that kind of money? She floundered silently for a moment.

"There's a code of honour among mercenaries, you know. Once bought, we stay bought until the job's done. I've been paid so far. You stay here until I get the word. As long as they keep paying, I'll deliver you in good condition." Rumlow eyed her. She was coming to an acceptance of the situation, he could see. _Good_. He'd thought this through very carefully, planned it all out. Anticipated her moves. Ward knew her very well, after all. Rumlow had listened to what he had to say and planned thoroughly.

Skye turned and looked out through the wilderness. But there was no escape there, she could tell. Her socks were wrecked from just that short sprint, she could already feel a splinter in her big toe which was hurting like hell. Wincing, she started up the cabin steps.

"I don't suppose I could have my boots back?"

"You suppose right." He saw the way she wasn't putting her foot down properly, cursed and moved quickly over to her as she made her way painfully upwards. "You little idiot."

Skye yelped as she was scooped easily off her feet. "Put me down!" She didn't flail, though, they were halfway up a flight of stairs and she really didn't want to be dropped down them. She waited until they were safely at the top before connecting a solid punch with his jaw.

And screaming with pain. It felt like she'd just punched a wall.

"Ow, ow, ow, _fuck_!" She shook her throbbing hand with a moan of pain.

Rumlow sighed, carrying her into the cabin and putting her down on the couch. "Don't do that again. That hurt you a lot more than it did me."

"No shit!" Skye bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the tears. He bent over her, grasping her hand firmly, manipulating her fingers, rubbing her knuckles. She couldn't help a little whine of pain.

"Don't think they're broken, but it's going to swell." He walked into the kitchen and returned with a first aid kit – and an ice pack. "Here, put this on your hand while I look at your feet."

"_What_ are you?" Skye asked softly as he peeled off her ruined socks and wiped her feet with an alcohol wipe.

Rumlow stilled, her foot in his hand, looking up at her from where he knelt before her. She was looking at him pale-cheeked, her eyes wide and scared. "You don't really want to know."

No human should have taken a punch like that – and she'd put all the power she could behind it – without so much as a flinch, and with her possibly breaking bones in her hands. Not considering the way Melinda May had taught her to hit. Combined with his golden eyes – and she remembered suddenly where she'd seen eyes like that before.

Raina's eyes had gleamed like that, in the darkness of the underground city, before she turned and fled from the temple chamber, disappearing into the darkness.

"Were you exposed to an Obelisk?" she asked hesitantly.

"No." He answered her calmly, taking tweezers from the first aid kit and holding her foot firmly in his hand. "I'm not like you. I wasn't born to be different."

"What, then?" She hissed with pain as he gently drew the splinter from her big toe.

Rumlow sighed. But no one knew _all_ his secrets, not even the Doctor. He certainly wasn't going to spill them to this girl, who'd see him dead if she could. "I had a very near-death experience. Whitehall brought me back with some experimental treatments."

Skye's lips peeled back from her teeth at the mention of Daniel Whitehall. "_Him_," she hissed out.

"I was no fan of his, believe me. None of this was by my choice – though I suppose given the choice of the ugly death I was facing or the life I have now, I'd choose life. It wasn't an easy transformation. Not like yours."

"Easy!"

He had _no idea_ of what she'd suffered, the pain, the _terror_ – and yet somehow the golden eyes holding hers spoke of far worse. Skye dropped her gaze, and after a moment he reached for the first aid kit again, smeared antiseptic cream on her toe and bandaged it lightly.

"Stay off it for a while. I'll get you some more socks." He gathered the things he'd used, stood and moved away.

Skye just sat, the ice pack numbing her sore knuckles. Trying to figure out what the hell to do. She couldn't hurt Rumlow by conventional means, and while getting a hand on him and quaking him was a possibility, it was quite likely he'd be able to snap her in half before she managed to incapacitate him. Escape was quite clearly impossible on foot. Even if she had boots, which she didn't.

So it was back to her specialised skill set. Hack the communications somehow. Except – she couldn't see anything electronic. No computer, not even a television. But that satellite had to connect to _something_.

_Don't ask. You'll tip him off._

Except he already seemed to know far too much about her… Skye looked up as Rumlow came back in, tossing her a pair of rolled-up socks.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, realising she had no idea what time of day it was, but her stomach was rumbling. "What time is it?"

He hesitated, and then shrugged, seemed to decide he might as well tell her. "Almost eight in the evening."

Well, that told her something, considering the blue sky she'd seen outside. The weather told her something else. "We're in the Northern hemisphere. Somewhere a long way north. It's July. If we were in Argentina or New Zealand it'd be dark and a lot colder than this," she realised.

"Mm-hm," he agreed with that faint, maddening smile again. "So that leaves Alaska, Canada, Russia. Not much ground to cover, then."

"Fuck you."

"Not allowed, I'm afraid."

"What?" Skye blinked at the apparent _non sequitur_.

Rumlow headed into the kitchen, and she twisted around on the couch to watch him go. "I don't get paid if I don't deliver you 'untouched' as your boyfriend put it," he called back. "So keep your hands to yourself, princess."

"Oh!" she was so outraged, she didn't know who she wanted to hit more. Rumlow for even thinking that she might want to – with _him_ – or Ward for being – well, just fucking _Ward_. She settled for punching a cushion on the couch with her unhurt hand.

"You _asshole_," she settled for saying as he came back into the room. Got even angrier when he just chuckled. "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last man on earth!"

Rumlow's golden eyes raked over her, and then he smirked. "You're not my type anyway, princess."

"Of course, you're the kind of macho asshole who likes scrawny perma-tanned blondes with fake double-D boobs," Skye snapped.

Rumlow's eyes widened, and then, to her even greater annoyance, he cracked up laughing. "No, no," he choked out after a moment. "Hey, you're pretty enough, don't get me wrong. But you're at least a decade too young for me, and way too innocent."

"I'm not innocent!" She wasn't going to argue with the _too young_ part, though. He looked fit and strong, but he looked to be about in his mid-forties, probably close to twenty years her senior if not more. _In fact, why the hell was she arguing with him about it anyway? _Skye shut her mouth as he gave her another amused look.

Rumlow moved the small table so that Skye could sit on the couch and eat, placed the single chair opposite her. And then he went back to the kitchen and came back a couple of minutes later with two bowls of something that smelled utterly fantastic.

Skye's stomach rumbled as he set the bowl and a fork in front of her. She leaned forward to peer into the bowl and saw a savoury-looking stew, vegetables and some kind of meat in a thick dark gravy. A minute later a plate was set at her elbow with a steaming bread roll and a pat of butter, and a water glass followed that.

"Thank you," her innate good manners came to the fore as Rumlow sat down opposite her with his own meal. He blinked as though surprised, and then inclined his head slightly.

"You're welcome. I need to deliver you in good condition. Starving you isn't on the cards."

"You see, now you've ruined my appetite," she grumbled, but the stew smelled so good she just had to pick up her fork and taste. "Oh wow, that's yum," she mumbled. "What is it?"

"Elk."

"Huh. Don't think I've ever eaten elk before," Skye paused with another forkful on the way to her mouth.

"It's just another kind of venison."

"I s'pose…" well, it tasted good, and she was too hungry to quibble. She ate hungrily, though she struggled to split the bread roll with her sore hand, and Rumlow took it from her silently, split it and spread the butter. "Thank you," she mumbled again. He wasn't utterly unkind, even if he was an asshole.

"Would you like some more?" Rumlow asked when she finished her bowl, and Skye blinked with surprise.

"If there is some, yes, please. Just a bit, not a whole bowl," she said a little hesitantly.

He took both bowls to the kitchen to refill them. Skye finished eating before he did and took the opportunity to study him.

Rumlow was, she realised rather reluctantly, an awfully attractive man. Olive-skinned and tanned over that, with black hair and thick black stubble, he had rakish Italianate good looks, high cheekbones and chiselled features. Dressed in a plain black T-shirt and black cargo pants, she could see the thickly defined musculature that was only bought by long hours of hard, brutal training. And he moved like a trained operative, like Hunter or May – or Ward, she reluctantly conceded.

"You were SHIELD?"

She hadn't meant to ask the question. It just kind of popped out.

Golden eyes flicked up to hers as he took the last bite of his food. He chewed and swallowed, took a sip of his water before nodding.

"You were high up in SHIELD. That's why you thought I should recognise your name."

Again a silent nod.

"I became an agent on the very same day the agency fell. Before that I was working as a consultant with Coulson's team."

"Ah, that explains it. And after that they thought I was dead anyway," he mused. "I used to command the STRIKE team."

"Wait," Skye's eyes suddenly flew wide and she found herself inching back, trying to get further away from him. "You're THAT guy – you fought Captain America in an elevator! I saw the footage!"

"They recovered that, did they?" Rumlow grinned slightly. "He kicked my ass, I'm afraid."

"And you launched the Helicarriers – you're HYDRA!" Skye actually scrambled over the back of the couch and stood shaking, closer to the door. She had no idea what she could do, why the knowledge suddenly made her that much more afraid – but it did. She'd thought Ward had cut his ties with HYDRA. Burned his boats after Puerto Rico.

"I was. I'm not any more."

**I wish I could be kidnapped by Rumlow and stranded with him in a deserted cabin in the wilderness.**

**Put it this way, I wouldn't waste my time arguing with him…**


	4. Revelations

**Chapter Four – Revelations**

"I was. I'm not any more."

Rumlow stood, and Skye watched, frozen with fear, until he began the mundane task of collecting the dirty crockery and carrying it into the kitchen without so much as a glance at her. After a long moment she followed and stood in the doorway watching as he efficiently washed up.

"What do you mean, _not any more_? I didn't think people just got to _leave_ HYDRA?"

_Ward did_, a little voice in her mind pointed out. _Ward was Garrett's more than HYDRA's_, Skye argued with herself. She almost missed Rumlow's quiet answer.

"They couldn't make me stay."

"But _why_?" she pressed. "You must have really believed in what you were doing. No one would have gone into that situation, fought against Cap and launched the Insight helicarriers, unless you _believed_. What changed?"

"I did." Elbow deep in washing up water, Rumlow sighed. "It's not important. But take my word for it, Skye, I'm not HYDRA. Nor is your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend, he's my creepy stalker!"

Rumlow found himself grinning at that as Skye hobbled away. He heard her settle onto the couch with a put-upon sigh. And found himself hoping that Grant Ward wasn't smart enough to have a fail-safe plan to convince Skye _not_ to kill him. Ward didn't deserve her. _Creepy stalker_, indeed. He had a slight chuckle at that.

Skye was sitting on the couch trying not to grind her teeth when Rumlow came out. He stood framed in the kitchen doorway looking down at her for a minute before she snapped; "Well, now what?"

"Now we wait."

"For what?"

"We already had this conversation, princess."

"Will you stop fucking calling me that!" The cabin tremored very slightly. Rumlow raised a mocking black eyebrow. Skye took several deep breaths.

"You need to get ahold of that, Skye." He moved, taking the table and chair back to their former places beside the wall before opening the wood stove and putting another log in. To her surprise, he then sat down on the rug on the floor, sprawling out quite comfortably. "It won't do you any favours if you let your anger control your powers."

He was right, and she thoroughly disliked him for it. "I know," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm still learning."

"Gettin' pissed off with me won't get you anywhere. Consider me the jail warden, if you like. Behave well and things will go just fine. Give me too much trouble and you'll find yourself chained to the bed again."

Something deep inside Skye reacted in entirely the wrong way to the thought of being chained to the bed with this dark, dangerous man leaning over her. As he turned his golden eyes towards her again, she found herself flushing.

Rumlow arched a surprised brow. "I thought you said not if I was the last man on earth?"

"I wouldn't! I was – thinking about someone else," Skye lied. The eyebrow stayed up, and she had the horrible, sinking feeling that he knew she was lying. _How the hell had he known that she found the thought of being chained down and at his mercy somewhat arousing, anyway?_

She wouldn't meet his eyes, looking around the cabin. There really wasn't much to see, but beyond the bathroom door, she spotted a low shelf filled with books. "May I read something, at least? Since it seems you've no intention of telling me anything and I certainly don't want to talk to you anyway?"

_That came out badly. Goddamn it, he's laughing at me with his eyes again._

"Go ahead." He gestured at the bookshelf. "I apologise for not having a wider selection."

That – actually sounded genuine. Puzzling, puzzling man. Skye climbed off the sofa with a huff and headed over to the shelf, crouching to look.

This was even stranger. She didn't know what she'd expected but it wasn't the collection of literary classics. They looked well-thumbed, too. So he was well-educated, then – assuming they were his. She looked over her shoulder, found him watching her.

"These are yours?"

"Sure." That bloody eyebrow again, mocking her. She turned back to the shelf.

"I'm sorry if they're not to your taste," Rumlow said, watching Skye as she ran her finger along the spines of his books. "Or if you've read them all before."

"I haven't." She pulled a thick book, turned back towards him. "Well, if this sojourn gives me time to catch up on all the books I suppose I _ought_ to have read, that's one good thing, hm?"

The book she'd chosen was _War and Peace_. He grinned. "Well, that should keep you busy for a while, at least."

"I read fast. Or I do when I'm reading on a proper electronic screen and not archaic paper," she sniped.

He chuckled. "Sorry, princess, but do you seriously think I'm going to hand you a weapon like that? I know what you're capable of."

She aimed a light kick at him as she made her way back to the couch, but there was no heat in it and he easily evaded, watching as she settled down and opened the book to the first page. She hadn't even turned the page, though, before she looked up at him over the book.

"If you're going to watch me read, you're heading over into creepy stalker territory too," Skye warned.

_Dammit, he _liked_ her. Liked her guts, her fearlessness_. He couldn't help but laugh. And then he went and selected a book for himself, stretching out on the rug to read.

Skye read for what she guessed was about an hour. It wasn't the easiest book to get into, though – all the characters seemed to have three long complicated Russian names, and she could already tell the plot was insanely convoluted – and she couldn't quite keep from looking at Rumlow every now and then.

_He was awfully attractive_, she found herself thinking again. _For an older man, anyway_, she hastily added. Not that there was much to give his age away apart from a few wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his forehead creased when he raised one of those mocking black eyebrows in her direction. He had a hell of a body, stretched out there on his front on the rug, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, snake hips and a tightly muscled ass. Propped up on his elbows as he read, his biceps bulged thickly, flexed slightly as he shifted to turn a page.

Skye lost herself briefly in appreciative contemplation, startled only when Rumlow moved slightly. She looked hastily back at her book and turned the page, suddenly aware that it must have been several minutes since she last did so. She had to turn back a moment later in complete confusion.

Finally Skye couldn't take the silence any more. She closed the book with a snap.

Rumlow turned his head to look at her. "You tired?"

"Kinda, which is weird since I slept half the day away in a drugged sleep, I'm guessing? And don't you dare give me that maddening smirk again."

He shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

Skye took a deep breath. Asked the question she'd been afraid to voice from the beginning. "Are the others all right? Is the rest of my team – did anyone get hurt?"

To her surprise, he sat up and turned to face her fully, looking at her with something like sympathy on his face. "I'm sorry, but I truly don't know. It was a trap set to draw you out, of course. My job was to shoot you with a tranquilliser dart and take you away. I don't know what Ward and Doctor Zabo did after that."

"Shit, so my father _was_ involved!"

Rumlow stared at her. "Well, of course he's involved. He's the one paying me."

"_What?_" Skye stared at him, ashen. "Ward and Cal are _still_ working together?"

"Should they not be?"

It was too much. Somehow, she'd thought after San Juan, that Ward would have seen how much she hated Cal. How much she despised what a butcher he was. Thought that Ward would have understood that there was no possible way she would ever want anything to do with him, while he went along with her father's crazy plans for her.

The last tiny bit of affection she'd held for Ward, that last piece of her that had held her back from putting her bullets in his head instead of his side, withered and died. Skye put her head in her hands and burst into tears.


	5. You Didn't Know

**Chapter Five – You Didn't Know**

Rumlow stared in shock as Skye suddenly began to cry. Mind you, he supposed that finding out that your father had contracted a killer mercenary to kidnap you couldn't exactly be the best news she'd heard in a while, he realised.

"Ah, hell, princess," he stood up, loomed over her awkwardly, hand hovering over her hair. "Damn. Please don't cry."

It was a weakness he despised in himself, seeing a pretty woman in tears when he was helpless to do anything about it. Had begun back in his childhood, when he'd been too small to stand up to his abusive, drunken father. Too weak to prevent his mother's tears. Ever since then, a woman's tears had always been something he sought to avoid. It was why he'd chosen STRIKE instead of the Specialist track in SHIELD. Far less likely to encounter honeytraps and pretty women who cried at the drop of a hat to get their own way.

Somehow, he didn't think Skye was crying to get something from him, though. This was genuine grief. Like she'd lost something precious. He stood frozen there, wanting to comfort her, knowing only too well that she'd never accept it from him. In the end, he sighed, went into the kitchen, and came back with a glass.

"Drink this."

"What is it?" she hiccoughed, looking at the amber liquid in the glass.

"Whisky. Won't take away your pain but it might help you forget it for a while."

She eyed it for a moment, and then took the glass and downed it in one long gulp. Then coughed. "That's shit whisky, Rumlow. You got any more?"

"Regrettably, no. I don't drink," then when she looked at him incredulously, "any more. Used to. After Whitehall changed me, there wasn't any point. Can't get drunk."

"Oh." She looked a little mournfully at the empty glass and then handed it back to him. "Well. Thanks for the last of your shit whiskey, I guess."

He fought not to laugh, had to take the glass to the kitchen to hide his shaking shoulders. He'd smoothed his face by the time he returned. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you that. But you gotta realise that your father's not a good man, Skye."

"Oh, I know that," she said wearily, wiping her fingers below her eyes to wipe away the tears. "He's insane. I just don't know if he's _always_ been mad, or if it's just since Whitehall butchered my mother and left her carcass for him to find."

Rumlow's mouth hung open.

"Oh. You didn't know."

"No. I – I'm sorry. Whitehall was an utter bastard. He saved my life in one of his insane experiments and then wanted to dissect me to see how and why it worked. Doctor Zabo – _convinced_ him otherwise."

Skye smiled bitterly. "Yes, well, I think Cal would do anything to thwart Whitehall. That's probably the only reason you're still alive. Otherwise _he'd_ probably have wanted to dissect you too."

"He probably still does," Rumlow said bitterly. "He doesn't know where we are, Skye," he wanted, suddenly, to assure her of that. "Absolutely not one person, living or dead, knows about this place. You're safe here."

"Right up until the moment that you get paid to hand me over."

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. And then Rumlow sighed and turned away.

"Yeah. Until then."

"I'm tired," Skye said finally. "Where do I sleep?"

"The bed."

She blinked. Looked at him, at the couch. "You're way too big for the couch."

He laughed. "You're inviting me to share the bed?"

"NO!" she blushed again at his laughter, at the mockingly suggestive eyebrow. "Damn it, Rumlow. I'm trying to be nice."

"No, you're not. You're trying to get me to let you sleep out here, thinking that you can sneak around once I'm asleep and look for the electronics I have to be hiding around here somewhere."

It was her turn to have her mouth hanging open. She snapped it shut quickly, protested. "No, that's not…"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Skye. You're sleeping in the bed. There's no way out of the bedroom except through that door. Do not make me chain you to the bed." The way he looked at her made her snap her mouth shut even as dull colour stained her cheeks yet again.

"There's a new toothbrush for you in the bathroom. Soap, shampoo and stuff you can use. Clothes in a drawer under the bed." He shrugged. "I'll give you fifteen minutes privacy." And rather to her surprise, he left the cabin, going out into the still-light evening.

_Fifteen minutes_… the only thing she could do in fifteen minutes was piss him off dramatically, Skye realised a bit dismally. With an irritated sigh she headed into the bedroom.

Her mood wasn't improved by the clothes she found. Perfectly serviceable, all brand new, even sealed packages of underwear. And all precisely her size. She had the nasty feeling that Ward had picked them out. In a fit of pique she decided she didn't want to wear any of them. There were three other drawers under the bed, and they contained what were obviously Rumlow's clothes. She swiped a pair of jockey shorts and a black T-shirt. All the T-shirts were black, grey or Army green.

"Snappy dresser," she muttered under her breath after her shower, pulling the T-shirt on. Wondering if it was the same size as the one that stretched so tightly over his muscles, because it hung around her like a loose dress. _Stop thinking about his muscles. He's an asshole_. She scrubbed her teeth vigorously, tugged a comb through her tangled hair. She'd just finished her ablutions when there was a light tap on the bathroom door.

"Fifteen minutes, Skye."

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't run away!" she snapped, yanking open the door. He was right there so they were face to face, or rather face to chest since he was a head taller than her. Skye looked up into his golden eyes and suddenly found herself swallowing nervously.

"Good," was all Rumlow said, and then he stepped back gracefully and gestured to the bedroom door. "Sleep well, princess."

Skye was too tired and emotionally overwrought to do any more than shake her head. "_Please_ will you stop calling me that?" She went into the bedroom and closed the door quietly, unaware that the man behind her couldn't stop staring at her slender, bare legs.

_I have to call you that, or I'll forget myself_, Rumlow thought, throwing himself onto the couch with a weary grunt. _Dammit_. He really hadn't anticipated being quite so attracted to Skye, so tempted by her beauty, her wit and fiery, defiant courage. _In any other situation, I'd have made a serious play for her_, he realised. Not that she'd be interested, he had to be almost twice her age.

Although – she'd actually reacted with a certain amount of arousal earlier, when he'd suggested chaining her to the bed. And seemed oddly embarrassed when he teased her about it.

He shut his eyes. _Stop it. You have to stop. You can't have her anyway, even if she was willing. She's not yours_. The thought of Ward and Skye together made him bare his teeth, though, hackles rising on the back of his neck. The thought of just meekly handing Skye over to Ward was getting more unpalatable by the minute. She clearly didn't love Ward, obviously genuinely despised him. The bastard would break her spirit, Rumlow thought, and clenched his jaw at the thought of Skye subjected to the kind of abuse he suspected Ward would deal out.

She needed gentle handling. Soft touches, light caresses until she was ready for more, until her pliant body arched up into his touch.

Rumlow wasn't even aware that his hand was on his hardening cock through his cargo pants.

He'd use the shackles, chain her down to the bed and explore every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue, take his time with her until she was writhing and begging for him to take her. He'd gaze into those exotic dark eyes as he sheathed himself deep in her welcoming heat – perhaps she'd whisper his name…

"_Shit_."

She was already in his fantasies, in his mind, and she'd only been here a few hours. How the _hell_ was he going to cope for _days_ with her in close proximity? Disgusted with himself, Rumlow pushed himself up off the couch, ignoring his aching cock. "Get control over yourself, Brock," he muttered quietly.

He slipped silently from the cabin. He'd go down to the river, take a dip. It ran down from the snowmelt, was seriously cold. Just what he needed right now.

**Aha. So Rumlow's not made of stone, then… he's certainly noticed Skye as well. But what's he going to do about it?**


	6. Exploration

**Chapter 6 – Exploration**

Skye heard the cabin's outer door close. She waited another five minutes before slipping quietly out of bed and opening the bedroom door a crack. No sign of Rumlow; she darted swiftly through the cabin, checking. No, he was gone. She looked at the outer door nervously, biting her lip. What would he do if he found her snooping around? On the other hand, he seemed almost to expect it. She shrugged mentally. He wasn't going to do anything _too_ serious. Jail warden, he'd described himself. Not torturer. And he hadn't actually _told_ her not to snoop around…

She started in the kitchen, since it actually had cupboards and things that needed searching. The rest of the cabin was so minimally furnished. But the only items that ran on electricity were the fridge-freezer and the stove – even the kettle was one that sat on the hob. No false bottoms to any drawers.

Skye finished quickly and headed back into the main room. She'd already searched both bedroom and bathroom, found nothing of interest. So it had to be in here.

She found it quickly, a trapdoor under the rug on the floor. The only problem was that it was either locked somehow or too damn heavy for her to lift. Muscles strained in her shoulders as she hauled, but it didn't move.

"Fuck!"

So close and yet so far. _How long had he been gone?_ She didn't dare stay out too much longer. Quickly, she smoothed the rug back into place, darted back into the bedroom and closed the door.

Skye lay awake for a while, straining her ears for the sound of Rumlow returning. At last she heard a very quiet thud in the outer room, and then water running briefly in the bathroom.

She didn't question why it was that she couldn't fall asleep until she'd heard him return.

There were no windows in the bedroom – in the cabin at all, actually, which seemed odd until Skye thought about the likely brutality of the winters here – so she had no idea what time it was when she woke. Her stomach was rumbling, though, so she suspected a fair few hours had passed. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and opened the bedroom door.

To her utter astonishment, the trapdoor in the floor was open. There was no sign of Rumlow. Wide-eyed, Skye looked around for a moment and then hurried over to the door. A steep flight of steps led downwards.

Descending slowly, peering around, she found herself in a surprisingly large basement room. Bigger than the cabin itself, she rather thought, it must extend out behind the cabin. There were two big double doors at the back, currently open, and standing half-in, half out of them was – _oh_. It was a helicopter, blades folded.

"So _that's_ how we got here." She'd wondered.

_Damn_. If there was some sort of road, and a vehicle, well she knew how to hotwire cars. But helicopters were way outside her range of experience.

_That said, there would be a radio in it, wouldn't there?_ She was just heading towards it to look when a low voice behind her said;

"Good morning."

Skye hated herself for jumping and letting out a small scream. She whipped around and looked up at Rumlow who – _oh_.

He was stripped to the waist, a rag in his hands, just wiping some black grease off his fingers. There was a fully-equipped toolbelt hanging low on his lean hips. And he was even more deliciously muscular than Skye had imagined.

He looked like he'd just stepped off the set of a porn movie where a desperate housewife calls for a mechanic, Skye thought a bit frantically, unable to make her voice work. She settled for a nod and a mumble which could possibly have sounded like _Hi_.

"And yes, this is how we got here." He walked past her to the helicopter, patted the gleaming black nose. "You see why it would be a bad idea to bring the cabin down? This is our only way out of here. So don't think about sabotage, either. You wouldn't like being trapped here."

He was quite correct. Skye watched as he leaned his weight against the machine, pushed it further inside. The helicopter's belly was supported on a low wheeled trolley, she realised, meaning he could move it easily. Once the doors were cleared, he closed them and padlocked them together.

"My workshop," Rumlow turned back towards Skye, spread his hands. "Feel free to look around. I know you investigated the cabin thoroughly last night."

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of blushing at being caught out. She was having to fight not to look at him anyway, because _muscles_.

_I hate him_, Skye told herself firmly as she took him at his word and wandered around the workshop. _He's an asshole_. There was no heat in her thoughts, though.

One corner of the room was taken up by what she guessed was the battery storage unit and controllers for the rooftop solar panels. Another freezer hummed quietly beside that, a big box one.

In the other corner was a workbench, well equipped with plenty of tools. Lots of weapons there. Except he'd already established that attacking him was a stupid move, because she needed him to get her out of here. Skye watched silently as Rumlow headed back over to the bench and hung up his toolbelt, putting things away neatly. _He likes things tidy. Orderly_.

Along the side wall was, a little to Skye's surprise, a big weights machine, one of the multi-machines that was designed to be adjustable to work out nearly every muscle in the body. She eyed it thoughtfully, wondering how on earth he'd got that here. Along with some of the other heavy items, like the solar batteries, the fridge, the couch and stove. That little helicopter wasn't capable of that kind of weight lift, surely. But then, if he could fly that, he could probably fly a heavy-lift helicopter. One of those would make light work of it, everything in the cabin could be flown in a couple of loads, she supposed.

The last thing in the basement room was a big safe. A gun safe, Skye guessed. Nearly as tall as she was. And there was a powerpoint on the wall next to it with a cable plugged in, the cable disappearing into the back of the safe. She wandered closer, trying to look unobtrusive. An old-style combination lock. _Damn_. She had less than no idea how to start cracking one of those.

Rumlow leaned back against his workbench, arms folded, and watched Skye explore. She seemed unaware of the fact that she was still not properly dressed, wearing only one of his T-shirts and what he rather thought was a pair of his jockey shorts underneath. He did like the way she looked in his shirt, though, her pert little breasts pushing against the fabric as she moved.

_Stop looking at her breasts_. His cock was already hard, had been from the moment he watched her slender legs come down the stairs. _God, how he'd like to have her wrap those around him_…

"Rumlow." His golden eyes were a little glazed, Skye thought. She'd been avoiding looking at him, really, mainly because when she did she couldn't help but notice the way his biceps bulged so thickly with his arms folded like that. But she'd said his name twice now and he hadn't responded. "Earth to Rumlow!"

He blinked. "Yes, what is it, princess?"

She glared at him, lips compressed at the hated nickname. "Skye," she said between gritted teeth when he only looked at her quizzically. "My name is _Skye_."

"What is it then, _Skye_?"

"Can I use your weights machine?"

Of all the things he might have expected her to say – that really wasn't it. He blinked again, surprised. "If you want." He rethought it. "As long as I'm here to spot you. I don't want you down here by yourself."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He smiled blandly back. "Too much trouble you could get into, prin-_Skye_."

Well, at least he'd stopped himself before calling her _princess_ again. She'd take that as a small victory. "Now?"

"No. I'm hungry, it's breakfast time. Upstairs with you."

She wanted to protest, but he unfolded his arms and straightened up, and something in his purposeful step towards her made her turn and hastily head towards the steps. She sensed that arguing with him would end with her tossed over his shoulder and hauled upstairs against her will, and she really, really didn't want that. Not right now, not with all that tempting bare muscle exposed…

_Not ever, Skye, what are you thinking!_

_I don't like super macho guys. I don't, I don't… Jemma's the one who goes all silly around men with muscles, not me…_

_Suuuuure. Keep telling yourself that._

She rushed up the stairs as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. A little bemused, Rumlow followed her, rather grateful actually when he realised it meant he had less time to admire those spectacular legs.

She'd shut herself in the bathroom when he arrived at the top of the stairs. He shrugged mentally and closed the trapdoor, hearing the click as it locked into place. She hadn't found the locking mechanism yet, then. He had no intention of showing her, either. He really didn't want her down there on her own. Heading for the kitchen, he washed his hands and started to make breakfast.

Skye stared at herself in the small mirror over the bathroom sink, noticing with horror her flushed cheeks and blown pupils. _This is insane_. Yes, there was a certain animal attraction to Rumlow, it was undeniable that he was a handsome man, but – he'd _kidnapped_ her! Was holding her prisoner for _Ward_!

"You need to stop this," she mouthed silently at herself in the mirror, running some cold water to splash on her face. "Getting a silly crush on this man is stupid and dangerous. He's ex-HYDRA – and you only have _his_ word for that – he's killed who knows how many people, he'd kill you in a heartbeat – he's vicious and brutal and yeah, really sexy…" for another moment she lost herself in thinking about the way he'd looked at her the previous evening when he'd suggested chaining her to the bed and for an instant she'd thought about it in sexual terms.

_I caused him to look at me like that_, she realised dismally. _He wasn't looking at me in a sexual way before at all_. He'd even taken pains to let her know that she had nothing to fear from him in that way, because she had to be delivered untouched.

_I lied when I told him not if he was the last man on earth. I'd rather fuck him than Ward. Rather him than any guy I've met in a while, really…_

"Stop it!" she said aloud. _God, what was it about Rumlow that had her all twisted up in knots like this?_ She was acting like a stupid hormonal teenager with a huge crush! Splashing more cold water on her face, Skye dried her face and hands, squared her shoulders and headed out to face him again.

He was in the kitchen, cooking. Bacon in the grill, eggs frying in a pan. He glanced up as she looked in. "How do you like your eggs?"

_Oh God, he's being domestic. Help_. Aloud she said "Over easy, please."

"Sure. Coffee?"

"Black."

He nodded. "Go sit down. I'll be there in a minute."

She hovered uncertainly for a moment, wanting to help. But then she'd only get in his way, it was a tiny kitchen. Instead she retreated, saw that he'd already put the table back in front of the couch, set it with cutlery. Sat down a bit awkwardly and wondered where he'd slept. The couch was way too small for his big frame, even she would be a bit cramped to curl up on it, and it wasn't a pull-out.

_I don't care_, Skye told herself firmly. _Do. Not. Care_.

He came in then, set a plate down in front of her, piled with thickly cut, buttered toast, bacon and perfectly cooked eggs.

"How's your hand this morning?" he caught it as she reached for her fork, ran his thumb over her knuckles, which were showing some dark bruising. "Hmm. You'd better ice it again after breakfast."

She snatched her hand back as soon as he let go, grabbed her fork and dug in, purposely didn't look at him. Hoped he didn't notice that the light drag of his callused thumb over her bruised, tender skin had made goosebumps spring up all over her body and her nipples leap to attention, pressing against the thin shirt that was all that hid her from his eyes.

She kept her eyes down, focussed on her plate. Didn't say anything. Couldn't look at him as he ate with the same calm, swift efficiency that he seemed to do everything. Because the _bloody_ man still hadn't put on a shirt. And her brain was far too busy fantasising about what he'd do if she pulled off her own shirt and pressed herself against him, found out what all that tanned, muscled skin would feel like against her own…

_Stop it, Skye, you're losing your mind!_

**Well, he did just cook her breakfast with no shirt on. I'd be losing my mind too…**


	7. Ground Rules

**Chapter 7 – Ground Rules**

After they'd eaten, and Skye was sipping on her third cup of surprisingly good coffee, Rumlow cleared up again and then came to sit back down opposite her, eyeing her thoughtfully.

"What?" she said, a bit aggressively.

"We need to lay some ground rules here, Skye. This isn't a holiday camp. While I'm prepared to allow you a certain amount of leeway, there's things you may not do."

"I don't like rules."

"I've heard that about you." He didn't smile when she gritted her teeth, knowing that only Ward could have told him that. "So I'm not setting too many. One, you don't go downstairs without me."

She nodded. He'd already said that.

"And second, you don't go more than fifty metres from the cabin without me."

"Where am I gonna go?" she scoffed. "I've already concluded that trying to run away isn't going to end well for me, thanks. You're obviously far more comfortable in this setting than I am; no doubt you'd track me down in short order and I don't particularly think I'd care for whatever punishment you'd invent for me." _Not if you're still insisting on keeping me 'untouched' for Ward, anyway – stop it, Skye!_

"I'm glad you've realised that. But you running away isn't what I'm worried about. There are predators out there, wolves and bears, and they have been known to hunt down humans. This is unforgiving terrain, too. Lots of rocks and tree roots: one nasty fall and you could seriously hurt yourself. I know you're a city girl. As you say, you're not comfortable in this setting. I don't want you to take unnecessary risks."

She'd almost scoffed when he said _wolves and bears_, but stopped herself at the last moment. Because he was almost certainly right. Alaska, Canada or Russia, there probably _were_ serious predators out there. And while she could take care of herself even without a gun, if she did happen to take a fall on the rough ground she'd be vulnerable.

"Fifty metres," she said slowly.

"That's right. I'll not deny you that. But you're not to go outside at all during the hours of darkness – which are very short here, at this time of year anyway. Defy me and I'll confine you to the cabin itself, this is the only warning you'll get, so take heed."

Skye nodded. He looked deadly serious, his golden eyes boring into hers, and if he was prepared to allow her a little bit of freedom and fresh air, well, she'd behave as best she could. "What about shoes?" she lifted her foot, still only in a sock.

"Well," a smirk quirked his mouth. "If you'd chosen some of the clothes I bought for you instead of stealing mine, you might have discovered a pair of trainers in that drawer."

Skye ignored his crack about stealing his clothes. "_You_ bought them?"

"Yes?" he tipped his head slightly, looking at her searchingly. "Ah, you thought Ward got them for you," he said softly, understandingly. "_That's_ why you didn't want to wear them. No. He didn't know where I was taking you, wouldn't have known what to buy. He gave me your sizes, I concede, but I picked the things out. And at the time I hadn't seen so much as a picture of you, so I wasn't choosing things to flatter your looks or anything like that."

Skye wasn't sure how she felt about any of that statement. Except – she was definitely grateful that Ward hadn't chosen the clothes for her, like some sort of doll he was dressing. Why it was better that Rumlow had picked them, she didn't quite understand – but suddenly she was prepared to actually wear them.

"Not that you don't look good in my shirt, mind." Rumlow grinned at her, and she debated tossing the dregs of her coffee in his face.

Instead she shoved to her feet and headed for the bedroom with all the dignity she could muster. Closing the door, she knelt by the bed and opened the drawer she'd only cursorily glanced in last night before slamming it shut angrily.

The clothes were simple. Comfortable and warm. Leggings, jeans, long-sleeved T-shirts, all in basic black or grey. A sleeveless down vest, that one bright red. Pure wool socks. And the underwear, in its sealed packets, was simple cotton briefs and bras, not the sexy lace that her fevered imagination had conjured last night, thinking Ward wanted her looking like a Victoria's Secret model for him.

_Rumlow's pretty astute_, she realised, looking at the clothes. He'd jumped to exactly the right conclusion about why she hadn't wanted to wear the things. Slowly, she pulled out a pair of leggings, a shirt and the down vest – and there, indeed, was a pair of trainers. Not ideal for the terrain outside, but she understood why he didn't want to give her boots. Not until he was sure she wasn't going to do anything stupid.

Dressed, Skye felt a bit better about herself. She folded the jockey shorts and T-shirt she'd worn, tucked them under the pillow and made the bed. Picked up the dirty clothes she'd had on yesterday.

"Can I wash these somewhere?" she asked a bit shyly, coming out of the bedroom.

"I handwash," Rumlow's voice came from the bathroom. "Sorry. No washing machine. In the kitchen sink, and there's a line on the porch outside. You can leave it a couple of days, if you like. Save up a load."

The bathroom door was open, and she glanced in. He was shaving off his beard, his chin and jaw lathered, drawing a razor up smoothly. His golden eyes met hers briefly before flickering back to the mirror.

_Holy shit that's – almost pornographic. Do not look, do not look, do not look_, Skye chanted silently to herself. She hurried to the kitchen. "I'll do them now. Might as well get it out of the way." She chanced another glance at him. Saw the long line of his muscled back flex as he leaned forward to rinse the razor. _Oh God, stop looking!_

She'd handwashed clothes in a basin many times when she lived in her van, so she made short work of it. The bathroom door was closed when she finished and she could hear the shower running, so she went outside rather hesitantly. Found, as he'd promised, a line running across the corner of the porch, a basket of wooden pegs beside it. It was stupid to feel embarrassed hanging her underwear up to dry, Skye told herself sternly – but the fact was, she _had_ been wearing pretty things yesterday. The black satin push-up bra and matching thong made her blush to think of Rumlow looking at them. She did her best to arrange things so that they were behind everything else.

It was quite a view up here, she thought when she'd finished, leaning on the porch rail. The cabin was built on the edge of a knoll, she saw now, with a good-sized flat open area behind it which Rumlow obviously used as his helicopter landing pad. The porch went around three sides; she explored a little, finding rainwater tanks and a water heater around one side, a large woodpile at the other. With a large, sharp axe leaning against it.

Skye pursed her lips, looking at the axe thoughtfully. It was just one more sign that Rumlow knew very well that he had her right where he wanted her. There were sharp knives in the kitchen, too. _He's not worried about me attacking him at all_. It was a rather lowering thought. But then, she couldn't attack him, could she? She'd be signing her own death warrant, most likely. And Skye was nothing if not an optimist. While she was alive, she'd keep on looking for a way out.

She was leaning on the rail again thinking dark thoughts about Ward when the door opened and Rumlow came out, his black hair spiky with water, his sharply-angled face even prettier now he'd shaved off that damn beard.

Of all the things she'd expected him to say, "Would you like to learn to fish?" was not even close to the top of the list.

"Huh?" she said a bit dumbly, still too distracted by just how damned handsome he was clean-shaven.

"Would you like to learn to fish? I was planning to go down to the river. See if I could get a salmon."

"Well why the hell not." She grinned. "Don't think I've anything better to do."

He smiled down at her. At least he had clothes on, she saw gratefully, although the sleeveless shirt didn't hide any part of those fabulous arms. He held something out and she frowned as she saw the hat. "What's that for?"

"You. Don't want you to get a sunburn. Sunscreen's the one thing I forgot to buy, I'm sorry. If I have to go on a shopping run before I get word to deliver you, I'll pick some up."

_I'm trying to hate you. Stop being considerate_. Skye put the hat on, though, watched as he reached up to the rafters over the porch and took down a fishing rod.

_Shit, I didn't look up! May would kill me._

She didn't have time to look what else might be stored up there, though, because Rumlow was heading down the steps and she had to follow, or be left behind by his long stride.

It was probably about two miles down to the river. Rumlow was sure-footed on the rough ground, Skye less so, though she concentrated on the skills May and Hunter had taught her. The former SAS soldier had taken her through a week of intensive training in the woods around the Playground, teaching her how to walk quietly on rough ground, how to move unseen and unheard in the trees. He hadn't gone easy on her, either, and Skye was grateful for it now as she kept up with Rumlow with little effort – even though she suspected he'd slowed his normal pace. He glanced back a couple of times and nodded approvingly, and Skye tried hard not to feel a small glow of pleasure at his approval.

Rumlow taught Skye how to bait the razor-sharp hook, how to cast the line into the swirling water. Found himself taking pleasure in her enthusiasm, her thirst for knowledge as she pelted him with questions. Delighted in her joy when she caught a fish, only to be reduced to helpless laughter at her disappointment when she finally got it out of the water and discovered it was a scant three inches long.

"I hate you," she told him when he sat down on a rock and roared with laughter. Detaching the fish from the hook, she sneaked up behind him and dropped it down the back of his neck.

"You little witch!" he shook the cold, slimy fish out of his shirt and went after her as she fled, shrieking with laughter. He caught her within a few strides, hefted her over his shoulder and carried her back to the river's edge. "Let's see how _you_ like getting cold and wet."

"No!" Skye screamed, clutching at his shoulders as he held her out over the rushing water. It was shallow enough just here that she wouldn't be swept away, but she'd had her hands in it enough to know it was numbingly cold. "No, please don't!" She was still giggling, though, at the look on his face when he realised she'd dropped the fish down his shirt.

His golden eyes fastened on her lips as he stilled, the grin slowly sliding from his face. Skye was hanging on for grim life, her arms around his neck, her face quite close to his.

Skye suddenly lost all urge to laugh as he looked at her mouth. With a gulp of breath, she stilled, licking her lips nervously, and for a long moment they just looked at each other.

And then Rumlow turned away from the water and put her on her feet. "Come on. We didn't catch dinner yet."

**Oooh, the tension is rising – are they going to give in to that? You'll just have to wait and see…**


	8. Tensions

**Chapter 8 – Tensions**

Rumlow was the one who caught the fish in the end. Standing in the icy water barefoot, pants rolled up to his knees, he slid his hands under a rock and came out with a hefty, silvery trout. Skye couldn't help but applaud. And then wrinkle her nose when he pulled a wickedly sharp knife from his belt to kill it.

"Better than a slow death by asphyxiation," Rumlow pointed out, which she supposed was true. He gutted it right there on the riverbank, and Skye forced down her squeamishness and made herself watch.

Rumlow couldn't help but approve. Skye was a survivor, a tough cookie. She was watching him closely, learning, even though the look of distaste on her face made it clear she was pretty revolted, he had no doubt she could do it herself if she needed to. He washed and dried his knife, sheathed it. Put the fish into a Ziploc bag he'd brought with him and stowed it in his small backpack.

"Come on," he stood from where he'd been kneeling by the riverbank, gutting the fish on a flat stone, and held his hand out to help Skye up automatically. To his surprise, and he suspected hers, she took it, seemed to realise what she'd done half a second later and snatched it back again. He pretended not to notice and started walking back up towards the cabin, hearing after a moment the slight clatter of stones as Skye began to follow.

They ate a simple salad for lunch and then Skye asked again if she could use his weight machine. He agreed, thinking that at least it would keep her busy. He had things to do anyway. He waited until she'd gone into the bathroom before unlocking the trapdoor, though. He wasn't prepared to give all his secrets away just yet.

"You used one of these before?" Rumlow asked.

"Not exactly like this, no." Skye peered, slightly intimidated by all the different cables and adjustable things. He grinned at her expression.

"It's set up for lateral pull-downs right now. Like this." He seated himself, grasped the bar and did six repetitions, slow and smooth, muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling as he breathed easily. "Here, you have a go." He leaned back and pulled the pin out of the weight block.

"I can pull _some_ weight," Skye said, aggrieved, as he got up and gestured to her to sit down.

"I'm sure you can. But I want to make sure you're using the machine correctly before we put any load on your muscles."

_Damn, he sounds just like May. Do it the right way or not at all_. Skye sat down, though, and let him direct her, position her shoulders correctly with a warm hand between her shoulder blades. She tried not to let her awareness of him creep into her expression, but it was very difficult with him there on one knee beside her, actually _touching_ her.

"That's it. No, don't tense your neck." That warm hand rubbed at the back of her neck. "Hell, you're really tense!"

"It's been a tough couple of days," Skye said drily, but she couldn't help a little moan as strong fingers pressed, rubbing away tension. "A – tough few – months – ohhhh."

Her muscles were like knotted rope. How she was moving as comfortably as she did, Rumlow had no idea. He moved to stand behind her, using both hands to ease the knots from her neck and shoulders, unable to leave her like this. "What the hell have you been doing to yourself, Skye?" he murmured compassionately.

She sagged limply against his hands. He shook his head, let go for a minute. Pulled a rubber yoga mat down from the rafters and unrolled it, dropped a rolled towel on it for her to prop her head on. "Lie down. Let me look at that back of yours."

"'M all right," she mumbled, but she lay down on her front as he directed, didn't resist as he knelt astride her thighs and dug his thumbs into her spine.

"Oh God. How is it that some woman hasn't snapped you up yet?" Skye slurred in a pleasure-drugged stupor a few minutes later.

Rumlow paused in loosening the knots under her shoulder-blades, and then carried on without saying anything.

"I mean, you cook, you do the hunter-gatherer thing, you even clean. You must, this place is immaculate. You've got magic hands and you're really hot."

_Oh shit, I didn't mean to say that last bit! _Skye was very glad her face was buried in the towel so he couldn't see her burning cheeks, but she suspected the back of her neck had gone red too.

"Thank you for the compliments," he murmured finally. "I guess I just didn't find a woman who would like me for all those things yet."

_Stupid women_. Skye managed to keep from saying it out loud.

Finally he lifted off her and she just lay there completely limp. "I've never been so relaxed in my life," she mumbled into the towel.

"Stay there a minute. I'll get you a glass of water. That will have released a lot of toxins into your system, you need to flush them out."

It would have been a perfect moment for her to have a sneaky look around the workshop. But right then she couldn't, literally _couldn't_ move. Every muscle in her body felt utterly limp.

He returned a couple of minutes later. "Can you sit up?" he knelt beside her, helped her turn over, and when she sat up, actually braced his knee behind her back so she could lean on it.

Skye's hands were shaking as she accepted the glass of water and drained it. "Thank you," she said finally, turning her head to look up at him.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. "Feel better?"

"Mm." She lost herself staring into the depths of his golden eyes. They were hypnotic, utterly fascinating. There was something going on between them, she couldn't put a name to it. It felt like a guitar string slowly being tightened and tightened until finally it snapped.

"This is a bad idea." It was Brock who said it, thickly, as they stared at each other.

"Uh-huh."

"I need to keep my hands off you."

"Mm."

"You're too young for me anyway."

"That too."

"You need to stop agreeing with me while you're staring at me like that."

"Yup."

It was Skye who made the first move, though, setting the water glass on the floor and reaching up to put her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

It was an explosive first kiss, heat arcing between them as their mouths crashed together. Neither of them gave any quarter, both fiercely demanding, tongues duelling. Powerful arms slid around Skye, took her back down to the mat, his heavy body coming down atop hers. She only wrapped her legs around his lean hips and rocked against him, cradling the thick arousal she could feel through his cargo pants against her core, moaning into his mouth.

"_Such_ a bad idea," Brock muttered, kissing down her tender throat.

"Terrible," Skye agreed breathily, arching her neck to give him better access, moaning as he nipped at her collarbone.

"Ward will kill me. Or he'll try."

The mention of that name was like a dash of icy water in the face for Skye. She stilled her frantic movements, and Brock slowly lifted his head.

"That killed the mood thoroughly, didn't it?"

Wide dark eyes stared up at him fearfully, and he sighed. "Well, I guess that answers one question." He climbed off her, pausing to adjust himself a little uncomfortably. Skye averted her eyes, scrambling to her feet as well.

"What question?" she asked.

"You're not trying to seduce me into changing my mind about handing you over to Ward."

"What!" her eyes went wide. "You thought I'd… you _asshole_!" her fists balled.

"I thought it was possible," Brock answered quietly. "It seemed the more likely scenario than that you were actually attracted to me."

She stared at him for a long moment, her lush mouth compressed into a thin line with rage. And then she turned and stamped away, heading up the steps. He heard her stamp across the cabin's floor, heard the door slam. _Off to take her fury out on a few more unfortunate trees_, he thought.

_Better to have her angry with me than – the other_. Brock sagged back against the wall, reaching down to cup his painful arousal through his pants. God, what she could do to him! _Too long since I had a woma_n, he thought. _Too damn long_. Since he'd learned what Whitehall's experiments had done to him, he'd been too wary to let anyone get close to him.

_Stay away from her. It's best for her, best for everyone._

His body didn't want to listen.

**Ooops. Opened your big mouth at the wrong moment there, didn't you Brock? Silly, silly man.**


	9. Tell Me Why

**Chapter Nine – Tell Me Why**

Skye returned a little while later to find the trapdoor closed and Rumlow quietly working in the kitchen, preparing the fish for their dinner. He'd finished cleaning and scaling it and was baking it whole, wrapped in foil with diced onions and tomatoes, two potatoes baked in their jackets for accompaniment. He looked up at she came back in. They stared at each other through the open kitchen door for a moment.

"I'm sorry."

Rumlow blinked in surprise. "Er, what? I think I'm the one who should apologise."

"You can if you like. But I know _I_ should. I encouraged you and it was stupid and childish of me. I don't know what I was thinking. But I promise it was never in my mind to – _seduce_ you over to my way of thinking."

"I didn't really think it was." He folded his arms, leaned in the doorframe and looked down at her. "I'm attracted to you," he said it bluntly. "But this is a stupid, unrealistic, awful situation. You've probably got Stockholm Syndrome and this is just all wrong, I'd be taking horrible advantage of you in a vulnerable state of mind anyway. I like less and less the idea of handing you over to Ward, but frankly I'm still planning on doing it."

Her lips tightened again, but she nodded. "I see."

"Keep your distance, Skye. I'm trying not to be any more of an absolute bastard than I have to be. I'm not sure I could live with myself if I took what you offered down there and then handed you over like a sacrificial lamb."

She opened her mouth to say she hadn't offered anything, but it would have been a complete and utter lie. _She_ was the one who'd put her hand on his neck and pulled him down to kiss her, after all. She could have pushed him away at any moment and she hadn't.

"This would be a lot easier if you weren't being quite so nice," she muttered.

"Thought I was an asshole?" he quirked his eyebrows.

"Well, you are. But – you're still being kind of nice. And I have a known weakness for assholes."

Brock smiled a little sadly. "You'll want to get over that, angel. It's not a good weakness to have."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

They stood looking at each other for a long silent moment, and then Brock shrugged. "Okay. So we forget that happened and both keep a respectful distance?"

"Sounds like a plan," Skye agreed gratefully.

"Will it make it any easier for you to hate me if I tell you that I still want to kiss you?" Brock offered when they couldn't quite stop staring at each other.

"Unfortunately not." _Because now I know how you kiss I want a whole lot more_…

"Shit." He couldn't stop looking at her, devouring her with his eyes. Her lips were still a little swollen, he hadn't been gentle when he kissed her – but then she'd given back as good as she got. "_Skye_." His voice was a low, throaty growl.

"Right. Distance." She took a careful step back, opening up the distance between them.

"Yeah." Unfortunately, his instincts were driving him to go after her. To hunt, chase her down, catch her and make her _his_. He had to fight to keep his feet from moving. She backed up another step, her eyes still on his, wary. _Smart girl. Don't break eye contact_.

Skye wasn't sure what was prompting her to back away with her eyes fixed on his. Something atavistic in her hind brain was screaming _predator_ at her, and _back away slowly, don't run_. So she did, backing up until she was right into the bedroom. She closed the door very carefully, never looking away from those uncanny golden eyes.

Rumlow had to take several deep breaths to steady himself. His feral side was too close to the surface. _I need to run tonight_. It was a whisper deep in his blood he knew he wouldn't be able to deny, not if he didn't want to risk something far worse. He turned away, looked at the food he was preparing. _Later. When Skye is asleep_. He couldn't risk her finding out his secret.

Rumlow knocked on the door when dinner was ready, and Skye came out of the bedroom, eyes downcast. She'd found _War and Peace_ on her bed and taken advantage of the quiet time to get a bit deeper into reading it.

They were halfway through the meal and she still hadn't looked at him when she asked quietly;

"Why did you become HYDRA in the first place, Brock?"

His fork clinked against his plate as he set it down, staring at her. She flicked a quick glance up at him, looked back down at her food.

"Because you seem like a basically decent guy. The only definitely-HYDRA people I've actually known personally all seemed to have a screw loose, like Garrett and Ward. What made _you_ join up? What convinced you to believe so deeply in their ideology that you were willing to go up against Captain America?"

He'd suddenly lost his appetite. He picked up his fork and poked at his food again desultorily. Sighed and put it down again. "It sounds really stupid now."

"I'm listening."

"All right, then, if you want to hear it. I didn't start off HYDRA, of course. I was recruited to SHIELD from the Navy SEALs."

"Whoah," Skye's eyes widened. "Well, that explains the total badassery."

Rumlow grinned. "Whatever you've heard – it's all true. And STRIKE was even worse. But the thing is, that after a couple of years with SHIELD – I guess I burned out. I saw too much, Skye. You know some of the kind of things they covered up, you were Rising Tide. Whatever you saw, I saw twenty times worse, I guarantee you. And after Thor and his brother had that big dustup in New Mexico, it got a lot worse. Director Fury was grasping at straws, making deals with the devil. He was scared, I suppose, and when the invasion came to New York…" Rumlow shook his head wearily. "We were all scared, Skye. We were, as Fury said, hopelessly and hilariously outgunned."

"You weren't HYDRA until after that?" Skye said, surprised.

"I didn't know it as that, no. HYDRA _was_ SHIELD and SHIELD was HYDRA, Skye. It's been that way for more years than I think anyone knows. Project Insight was – well, it was supposed to level the playing field. Make it possible for regular guys like me to do our jobs, have a fighting chance."

Skye said nothing. Just listened. It truly didn't sound like the HYDRA she knew and thought she understood. But then Rumlow was still talking.

"I'm not going to say that I hadn't seen things I didn't like. That the name HYDRA didn't bother me; I'd learned my history just like anyone else. But truly, I believed – I thought it was… I don't know. Shit, Skye, I don't _know_. It was supposed to make things _fair_, for everyone."

"So what changed?" she asked at last.

"I did. I should have died in the Triskelion, Skye. I was fighting with Cap's buddy the Falcon – kicking his ass – when a helicarrier hit the building. Falcon jumped to safety. I didn't." He started running his fingers over his left forearm in what looked like a nervous tic. "They dug me out of the rubble eight hours later. I had multiple broken bones, a perforated lung, third degree burns over seventy percent of my body. Barely alive."

Skye's mouth went to her mouth with horror. She looked at him incredulously. He showed no signs of scarring, no burn marks, nothing. And she'd seen his whole upper body. "How is that possible?"

"HYDRA recovered me from the hospital where I was taken. I still had my dog tags on. Burned into my chest, actually." Rumlow smiled tightly. "I was so near death anyway, they figured they might as well get one last bit of use out of me. So they gave me to Whitehall."

"And he did – _what_ to you?"

"I don't know." His eyes were clear gold as he looked at her. "I woke up three months later. No scars. No burns. As you see me now."

"Your eyes?" Skye asked hesitantly. They'd both forgotten about their food, were leaning on the table watching each other intently.

"The most visible change. There were others." Rumlow paused. "I disagreed with HYDRA's premise that since they had given me a new life, I was now their property. Their weapon. I declined to be used as such. Whitehall made the decision to cull me; to dissect and study what he'd made. Your father persuaded him otherwise, convinced him that I could be made to comply." He nodded when he saw Skye wince. "You know what that means, I see. Well, so did I. I played along. And then at the first opportunity I got, I cut and ran. HYDRA have been hunting for me ever since, though it's all gone quiet since Whitehall died."

"Coulson killed him."

"In Puerto Rico, I heard. Ward told me." He smiled slightly. "I owe Coulson for that. I don't think Whitehall planned to give up on me easily, despite my efforts at convincing him to do so."

Somehow, Skye knew she _really_ didn't want to know what methods he'd used. "So you're really not HYDRA any more," she said quietly.

"No." He hesitated. "I – don't think – this isn't an excuse, but if I'd known then what HYDRA truly are, I'd have done things differently. I think there are a lot of people out there, former SHIELD people, who are regretting their decisions now."

"Misinformation," Skye murmured.

"HYDRA are far better at keeping people in the dark about their true purposes than SHIELD ever were, Skye. _They're_ the Rising Tide's true enemy. It's not possible for me to fight alongside the new SHIELD, because of what I've done. But believe me when I get a chance to strike a blow against HYDRA, I take it."

"You did them a favour by taking me from Coulson's team," Skye said flatly. "I _was_ fighting HYDRA. I was SHIELD's best weapon. By taking me and giving me to Ward, you're making HYDRA's task that much easier."

He sat staring at her in shock, mouth slightly open, and Skye could tell that hadn't even occurred to him. With a sigh she pushed to her feet and headed for the bathroom. "Just think about it," she said over her shoulder as the door closed.

**Well, it's a possible explanation that makes sense to ME, anyway. Seriously, who literally goes "Ah yes, I want to be a neo-Nazi?" Not more than half of SHIELD, as seems to have been implied by what little is left after the fall. Misinformation and plausible lies would have been the order of the day for all except those at the very top, like Pierce. And I think Rumlow was too smart to buy every single bit. Maybe when he saw the Winter Soldier put into the memory-wipe, that was when he started to question, but by then it was way too late to back out…**


	10. Strange Sights

**Chapter Ten – Strange Sights**

Rumlow was gone when Skye came out of the bathroom. Dinner had been cleared away, but he was nowhere in the cabin. And he didn't come back. She'd found a small clock on the stove that appeared to be set to the right time, a blessing in a cabin with no windows and a day that seemed to have an endless twilight. When he wasn't back by midnight, she was about to go to bed when she thought she'd just have one more look outside. It was actually dark, although not deep black, more a very dark twilight.

She was leaning on the porch rail when she saw something white in the trees.

"What the hell is that?" Skye murmured to herself. Moved over to that side of the porch, peering closely.

Whatever it was, was _moving_.

_Is that a wolf? Rumlow's out there_ – her first instinct was to be worried about him, but a moment later she told herself she was being foolish. Rumlow could most definitely take care of himself. And then the white _thing_ moved through a gap in the trees and she saw it clearly.

It wasn't a wolf. It was much, much bigger than a wolf. It was a white tiger the side of a freaking _horse_, black stripes stippling its thick pelt, huge paws the size of Skye's head moving silently as it padded across the ground.

Skye must have made a sound, a little noise of pure terror perhaps, because the tiger suddenly stopped moving, its huge head swinging towards her. Golden eyes gleamed in the twilight.

Terrified, she backed towards the cabin door, never taking her eyes off the creature. It was _huge_, it could be on her in a few bounds, could easily leap the porch rail – pushing in through the door she slammed it behind her, realising even as she did so that a tiger that size could probably just bash the door in with a sweep of one of those massive paws. She was almost hyperventilating when she ran to the bedroom, slamming that door too, crawled into bed and shivered like a frightened child until sleep finally claimed her.

In the morning, it almost seemed like a bad dream. Rumlow greeted her as pleasantly as he usually did, making scrambled eggs and link sausage for breakfast. But afterwards when Skye went for a short walk she made herself go towards the break in the trees where she'd seen the tiger last night and there, pressed into the soft ground, was a huge pawprint.

"So," she said, going back into the cabin, "Siberia."

He looked up from where he was just wiping the top of the stove. "Hm?"

"We're in Siberia."

"What makes you say that?" It was a curious little smile, might have made her doubt herself but for the evidence of her own eyes.

"I saw a Siberian tiger last night. Thought I might have been dreaming, but I just went to look and there's a freaking massive pawprint. You could have warned me, Rumlow, you said wolves and bears, but tigers is a bit much, really!"

He hesitated a long moment, then put the cloth he'd been using in the sink and said; "Show me."

Skye led him back to the pawprint, showed him. He crouched, held his hand over it thoughtfully and then looked up at her and grinned. "Skye, you've got an overactive imagination. This is a bear print."

"What?" she blinked, and then shook her head. "No, I saw it! It was white, and huge…"

"Firstly, Siberian tigers aren't white. That's a popular misconception. They're orange and black, traditional tiger colours. The white tiger is a recessive gene of the Bengal tiger, the _Indian_ tiger. I don't know why people mix them up so much, maybe because Siberian tigers live in the snow so people think they should be white – or perhaps because Siberian tigers are bigger than standard Bengals and so are the whites. That said, there are virtually no white tigers outside of zoos."

"But – I saw…" Skye said, shaking her head.

"And secondly?" he sighed. "We're not in Russia."

"Oh," her mouth fell open.

Rumlow stood. "Look, I don't mean to be unkind. You obviously saw _something_ because the print is here. I've never seen polar bears in this area, I suppose it's not impossible, but I'm pretty sure that this is a brown bear print."

Skye just stood, staring at the ground, her brow furrowed. She'd been so _sure_. Remembered clearly the huge cat's yellow stare as it gazed at her. God, how she wished for her phone or a tablet – something she could search with, compare images – she looked at the print again. She'd never seen a bear pawprint. But that one looked just like a giant-sized version of a domestic cat pawprint.

Rumlow put gentle hands on her shoulders, made her look at him. "Skye, I'm sorry if you got a fright. This is why I asked you not to go outside at night, remember? Or go more than fifty metres from the cabin without me."

She looked back at the pawprint. Back at him. "So we're not in Russia?" she said finally, her lips curving up slightly. "That means Canada or Alaska, right?"

"You're narrowing it down," he said, smiling back at her. "Only a few thousand square miles to go."

"Asshole."

"Yeah, and don't you forget it." He let go of her, started walking back towards the cabin.

"What would you do if we came across a bear when I was with you anyway?" Skye said rather argumentatively, following him. "Wrestle it to death? You're not even armed."

"Is that what you think?" he stopped walking for a moment, bent, pulled up the leg of his cargo pants and showed a 9mm pistol in an ankle holster. "Explosive-tipped ammunition. Stop even a charging bear."

"Why have you always got an answer for everything?" it was an irritated snap as he started walking back up the steps.

He turned, looked down at her. "Because I _prepare_, Skye. We had a saying in the SEALs, Proper Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance. Plan for every contingency. It avoids unpleasant surprises."

_I could learn a lot from that philosophy_, Skye thought a bit glumly as she followed him up the steps. She paused on the porch, though, went to where she'd been standing when she saw the tiger last night. Where she _thought_ she saw the tiger, she amended.

"It wasn't a tiger, Skye," he'd come up silently behind her. She willed herself not to jump, turned to look up at him.

"It had eyes like yours."

That maddening grin quirked his mouth again. "You're even dreaming about me now?"

"Stop it!" she went to whack him in the stomach, though better of it after remembering how much it had hurt when she punched his jaw. Her knuckles were still bruised. "Asshole!"

"I think I'm flattered, that you see me as a giant, deadly predator…"

"Fuck off, Rumlow!" she scowled at him, stalked around him and back into the cabin.

He stood for a long moment, staring at the gap between the trees, his jaw clenched tight. And then he turned and followed Skye inside.

"You know a lot about tigers," was the first thing she said, her tone still argumentative. _Well, I have just been convincing her to disbelieve the evidence of her own eyes._

"I know a lot about lots of things." He grinned. "I've actually seen Siberian tigers in the wild, Skye, in a mission in Russia I was lucky to survive. I was surprised they weren't white too. Looked them up after that."

She scowled at him, and he couldn't help but chuckle. She was even pretty making that face. "Why don't we go downstairs and you can take out some of that irritation doing some weights? Go change out of those jeans into something you can move in."

By the time she came back out of the bedroom, the trapdoor was open and she could hear him moving around downstairs. Skye's eyes narrowed as she realised she still didn't know how to open that door. There had to be a secret latch or something, and Rumlow was making sure she didn't know about it.

_Why would he?_ The logical part of her brain pointed out. _He's a smart guy, that's pretty obvious by now. Why would he give up any advantage? He knows you'd take any opportunity to escape_.

_Would I?_ Skye wondered as she climbed down the steep steps. _ANY opportunity? I mean, yes, if I found something I could hack to get a message out I'd do it in a hot second, but if I had to kill Rumlow to escape…_

Two days ago she'd have done it in a heartbeat. But now…

_I like him. He seems like a decent guy who bought into HYDRA's bullshit like so many others, if I'm reading him right, and now he's got serious regrets. Only he can't go back and he's got to make a living, so he's turned merc…_

He turned to smile at her, and Skye's heart turned over in her chest.

_This is not good._

Rumlow was actually making furniture at his workbench, Skye discovered, unable to keep from watching him while she used his weights. He avoided touching her today, just showed her how to adjust the machine and use it correctly, and then returned to his tools. He was competently building a second chair for the table upstairs, she realised, plain but functional, screwing it together and smoothing away any rough edges with sandpaper.

"There." He set it on the ground, tested that it was level. Looked up to see Skye staring at him with surprise. "I didn't think I'd ever have guests here." His smile was rueful. "Figured one chair would do me."

It was absolutely stupid to feel all warm inside because he'd made her a chair.

_I am so screwed_, Skye realised dismally.

**Siberian tigers really AREN'T white. Look it up.**

**And I never said Rumlow was a werewolf. Why did everyone think he was gonna be a wolf? I just said he was a were…**


	11. Memories

**Chapter Eleven – Memories**

They settled into a sort-of routine. They'd spend part of the day out in the woods or down by the river – Rumlow taught Skye a hell of a lot more about wilderness survival than she'd ever wanted to know, really, but it was rather fascinating. She even caught a fish, on the third morning down at the river, a hefty salmon, and he cheered her. And then made her kill and clean it herself. She threw a handful of fish guts at him in retaliation which he dodged, laughing. The grilled salmon steaks tasted really good later, though.

The rest of the day, they'd spend in the basement, Skye using the weights for a little while until she'd just sit and watch with fascination while he worked. He was building a chest of drawers, again plain but functional, but every edge perfectly aligned, beautifully finished so that when it was built there would be no sharp edges, so snagging drawers. His precision and attention to detail reminded her of May. She said as much, one afternoon six days into her stay at the cabin.

Rumlow's mouth quirked in that little half-smile she was coming to know so well. "Thank you," he murmured without looking up.

"Do you know her?" Skye couldn't help but ask.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"I used to."

"How well?" Skye suddenly felt a bit jealous. Rumlow and May had to be very close in age. Had they been lovers? Men did find May very attractive, she knew, even Ward had chosen May over her – _which was a good thing_, Skye reminded herself. A very good thing.

Rumlow glanced up at her, raised one of his expressive black eyebrows at the look on her face. "Not as well as _you're_ thinking. May and I were in the Academy together. Different tracks because I was always intended for STRIKE and she was a Specialist. We were both top of our respective classes. Had a bit of a friendly rivalry thing going on."

"Oh," Skye suddenly felt a bit silly. "What was she like? Coulson knew her before – whatever the Bahrain thing was that she won't talk about – and said she had a bit of a wild sense of humour."

"She did." Rumlow's mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. He set down the rasp in his hands and leaned back against the workbench. "We used to spar together quite a lot. She was the only one who could give me a challenge, really, we were both hand-to-hand experts before we ever came to SHIELD. This one time, she bribed another trainee to put itching powder in my jocks before a bout."

"No!" Skye's eyes flew wide. And then she started to giggle.

"Oh, yes she did. By the time we were three minutes in I felt like my nuts were on fire. The funny thing was, I realised it had to have been her somehow and accused her, and she started giggling so hard she lost the bout. I managed to pin her before running for the showers with steam coming out of my ears."

Skye laughed so hard she ended up on the floor rocking with laughter, tears coming out of her eyes. Rumlow was chuckling heartily right along with her, and she couldn't help but think how very differently Ward would probably have reacted. He'd never have been able to laugh at himself the way Brock was doing. Ward would probably have waited his chance and then quietly murdered the perpetrator of the prank.

"Oh, God," Skye wiped her eyes with the towel she'd been using to avoid getting sweat all over the weights machine. "Thanks, Brock. I needed a good laugh. I wish I'd known May back then."

"She was a good friend." He picked up the rasp again, frowned over a knot in the wood. "Bahrain changed her."

"Do _you_ know what really happened?"

He hesitated. "Not all of it. The STRIKE team were dispatched to clean up the situation. We arrived just as she came out of the building with the last hostage. So I saw the aftermath. What she'd done inside, what she'd seen. It was ugly, Skye. I'm not surprised it changed her. That could change anyone."

She didn't ask any more because it was clear he didn't want to talk about it. She sat on the floor and did some stretches instead, enjoying watching him work, the smooth economy of motion, the careful precision.

"May would hate me even more if she knew this," Rumlow said suddenly, surprising Skye since he'd been silent for a while as he worked, "but Bahrain was part of what drove me to HYDRA."

"What?" Skye blinked. "How?"

"Well partly in that the shrink I had to see afterwards – considering the mess, we all had to – was HYDRA. Messed badly with my head, I'm pretty sure now, convinced me that SHIELD was all fucked up when it really wasn't. But also, they convinced me that if things had been run their way, Bahrain would never have happened. It would never have got that far, the terrorists would have been taken care of long before."

"I see," Skye said. And she really did. "HYDRA seem to be very good at making people believe they are what they want them to be."

"That's a good way to put it." He looked at her, and she winced to see the pain in his eyes. "I wish to God I hadn't believed them, Skye, I really do. There's a lot of red in my ledger I can never wipe out because I fell for their bullshit."

"I'm sorry," Skye said softly. "I do understand. I was wrong about the Rising Tide."

"Yeah, but how many deaths are on your conscience because of _your_ mistakes?" He looked down at his hands, large and capable, held them out towards her. "Like Lady Macbeth, I can only see the bloodstains."

She couldn't help but get up and go to him, taking his hands in her smaller ones. "Don't do that to yourself, Brock."

Despite their situation, she'd come to believe Rumlow was basically a good man, if a troubled one, trying to do his best in a world he'd long since lost control over. He could never go back to what he had been, either SHIELD or HYDRA; the one because of what he'd done and the other because he no longer believed in their cause – and the fact that HYDRA would probably just hand him over to their horror-movie scientists to dissect. He planned to isolate himself from the world, she'd realised, once he'd earned enough money as a mercenary to do just that.

She even suspected he'd taken the job to kidnap and hold her because it didn't involve killing, wouldn't put more blood on his hands. Ward and Cal didn't want her dead, after all.

"You're not a bad person, Brock."

"_You_ say that, you who's here against your will." He laughed bitterly, pulled his hands from hers and turned his back on her.

"We've all done things we regret." She hesitated. "It's how we try to make amends that counts."

He didn't respond. Just carried on working quietly, and after a while she sighed and sat back down. The silence grew almost oppressive after a while, though, and Skye asked suddenly;

"Have you heard from Ward and Cal?"

His shoulders stiffened. "Yes."

"Really?" her head jerked up. He came down to the basement without her sometimes, to use the electronics she knew he had to be keeping in the gun safe. He always ordered her to stay upstairs when he did that and frankly she didn't want to disturb the fragile peace that seemed to be holding between them, so she obeyed. "What – what's going to happen?"

"There's been a small delay, you'll be here a few days longer than originally planned, at least. Your team were very persistent in hunting down Ward and Doctor Zabo, chasing after leads of you. You'll probably be pleased to hear that one of them managed to shoot Ward."

"Is he dead?" she asked eagerly.

"No." He turned to look at her curiously, raised an eyebrow when she looked disappointed. "You really do want him dead."

"Yes I do. Because only dead is he going to give up on this stupid weird fantasy that we belong together and it's _true lurve_ and all he needs to do is convince _me_ of that!" she flashed back at him, making his eyes widen. "Oh God, don't tell me he convinced you too? Do you know what he threatened? He told me he thought he _should just take what he wants; wake up something inside of me_. Like I don't know what sex is, like he could _rape_ me and make me like it and love _him_!"

Rumlow's nose wrinkled with disgust. "He's one sick puppy," he muttered.

"I thought once that I was a little bit in love with him," Skye confessed. "But I was infatuated with what I _thought_ he was, the _person_ I thought he was; and he was never that person. Everything he showed me was a lie, _calculated_ to try and make me fall for him. I _despise_ him. I had the chance to kill him and I wish I'd taken it, if I had I wouldn't be here!" Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, she swiped at them angrily, uncertain if they were tears of rage or misery. Closed her eyes to try and prevent more from welling.

Rumlow knelt beside her. Touched her shoulder gently. "Skye."

"Is that you, too?" she gulped. "Are you just showing me someone I kind of like so I won't give you any trouble? I used to think I was good at reading people, only – after Ward I don't _know_, it's all so fucked _up_…" more tears slid down her cheeks, and he sighed and pulled her head against his chest.

"It's all me, Skye," he said quietly. "I've only showed you the real me." _Just not _all_ of me_.

Her fingers tangled in his shirt and she began to cry in earnest. With a sigh he gathered her into his lap, sitting back and holding her while she cried it out against his broad chest.

He was big and warm and comforting and Skye truly couldn't remember ever being just held like this. Just _held_, with no effort to do anything but offer silent solace, no pressure to move away before the embrace became uncomfortable. One large hand stroked lightly over her hair, the other pressed between her shoulder blades, holding her firmly but not tightly. She could pull away any time she wanted, but it felt so nice, just to be held.

Skye closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Brock's damp shirt. She thought she might have felt him drop a light kiss atop her hair, but there was nothing sexual about the way he was holding her, despite their closeness. He wasn't aroused, she'd have been able to feel it with the way she was sitting in his lap.

She was still and quiet for so long that Rumlow wondered suddenly if she'd fallen asleep. "Skye?" he said softly.

"Mm hm?"

"You all right?"

"Yes." She pulled back and he let her go without any attempt to hold on. "Thank you."

"What for?"

A small smile, and then she was getting up and heading for the stairs. "The shoulder to cry on."

"Any time," he said sincerely as she went up the stairs. He watched until she was out of sight and he heard her feet on the floor above before shaking his head slowly.

_What the hell am I going to do with her?_

**Brock's just a big teddy bear really, isn't he?**

**And Ward really did say that to Skye, BTW, in the Battle at Cybertek. It's part of why the thought of SkyeWard makes me a bit sick.**


	12. Dreams Or Reality

It was pointed out to me that Brock trying to convince Skye that the tiger wasn't real could be interpreted as gaslighting. That said, it's not deliberately done by Brock with the intention of making Skye wonder if she's insane. He's just frantically trying to protect his own secret and can't think of another way to do it. However, if one person is triggered by it because I failed to tag at the start of that chapter - that's one too many. So I'm sorry if it upset anyone because I didn't tag earlier, but it really didn't occur to me that it could be interpreted that way, and I sincerely apologise! He does do it again in this chapter - but she figures him out this time!

**Chapter Twelve – Dreams or Reality**

Skye didn't sleep well that night. She'd felt a bit sick after her crying jag and couldn't really choke down dinner, though she tried, seeing Brock's eyes resting on her with concern in his expression. And then of course she woke up in the middle of the night starving hungry.

_Maybe I can find some crackers or something in the kitchen_. She slipped out of bed, opened the bedroom door silently, tiptoed as soundlessly as she could in her bare feet towards the kitchen, hoping not to wake Rumlow. One glance towards where he normally slept in a sleeping bag on the rug, though, and she froze.

He wasn't there. The sleeping bag was rolled neatly beside the couch.

_Have I got the time wrong, it is morning already?_ A glance at the clock on the stove told her it was one-thirty AM, though, and she frowned in puzzlement. _Where the hell is he?_

He wasn't in the kitchen, or bathroom. With the trapdoor closed, he wasn't downstairs. Curious, Skye opened the outer door and stepped out onto the porch. Not there anywhere, nowhere in sight. And his boots were right there by the door, as were her trainers. They'd both got their feet wet in the river that morning and left them out to dry.

She slipped her trainers on and went down the steps, going around to the back of the cabin, wondering if he'd opened the outer doors to the basement. No, they were tightly closed. Going back around to the front of the cabin, she stopped in mid-stride.

The white tiger was there. Right at the foot of the steps.

It was even bigger than she'd realised, it must be about five feet tall at the shoulder and over twenty feet from nose to tail, way bigger than any tiger she'd ever seen in a zoo. In the bright moonlight its white coat almost glowed.

_Don't panic don't panic don't panic… oh God it's between me and the steps, I can't get inside…_

The immense head swung towards Skye and golden eyes gleamed as it saw her. The tiger made a slight chuffing sound and took a step towards her, a paw bigger than her head landing silently on the ground.

Skye panicked. Turned and ran like hell for the trees, primal flight instincts taking over in the face of such an immense predator. _Maybe I can climb a tree, oh God, can tigers climb trees? Wait, Rumlow's out here somewhere_…

"BROCK!" she screamed at the top of bursting lungs.

Hot breath on the back of her neck was her only warning, because the tiger made no sound as it ran. She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder, _oh shit, it was right on top of her_ – her foot caught a stone or a tree root in her headlong flight and she tripped.

Her head hit the ground and everything went black.

Skye woke in bed with a sore head and a feeling of shock.

_How the hell am I still alive?_

She scrambled out of bed, ran for the door and flung it open. "Brock!"

He popped his head out of the bathroom and she realised he was shaving again, thin lines of lather over his jaw where he'd almost finished. He shaved every two or three days, when she'd asked him why he'd laughingly said he was too lazy to shave every day but his beard itched if it got too thick. It meant he almost permanently had a rather sexy stubble growth which really didn't help with Skye's feelings of attraction towards him.

On the other hand, clean-shaven he looked gorgeous too, the strong lines of his face exposed, and he always shaved shirtless which, well…

Skye shook off the distracted feeling that always came over her whenever she saw Rumlow's thickly muscled bare chest.

"What happened? Did you kill it?"

"Skye?" he frowned in puzzlement. "Are you all right, how are you feeling? How's that bump on your head?"

"The tiger!" Skye almost shouted at him impatiently. "You must have seen it!"

"Oh." He set the razor down on the basin, coming towards her, lifting his hand and gently touching the sore spot on her forehead. "Skye – look at me." He peered at her eyes. "Your pupils look okay but you might be a bit concussed. We'd better get an ice pack on that bump."

"The _tiger_!" she almost wailed.

"Skye, there was no tiger," he shook his head, a gentle smile curving his lips. "I woke up in the night and heard you screaming, and then there was a thump. I ran in and found you'd fallen out of bed and hit your head. The tiger must have been in your dream. It probably represents Ward – we were talking about him yesterday, after all, and you were still upset last night when you went to sleep."

Skye stared, dumbfounded, as he nodded at her and headed for the kitchen to fetch an icepack. She took it and waved off his concern, going into the bathroom. He turned politely away, murmuring that he'd finish his shave when she was done, and she shut the door.

Alone, she peered in the mirror, stared at the swelling on her forehead in confusion. The tiger had seemed so real. Twice now she'd seen it; she could almost feel that hot breath on the back of her neck. _I've never had a dream that real. Never_. And she was very sure about one thing; the tiger didn't represent Ward in her subconscious. She couldn't say why. She just knew it wasn't Ward.

It _must_ have been a dream. Skye peered in the mirror again, lifted her fingers to press at the swollen lump, wincing slightly – and froze.

There was dirt under her fingernails.

Skye brought her hands down and stared at them. Picked at her nails. Dirt. Earth, specifically.

_I had a shower before dinner last night. And I didn't go outside again afterwards before I went to bed._

_So I _did_ go outside in the middle of the night, and ended up with my hands on the ground somehow..._

_That means the tiger is real._

_That means Brock lied to me…_

There was a knock on the door. "Skye? Skye, are you all right in there? I'm worried about that bump on your head."

She opened the door, looked up into concerned golden eyes. And _knew_.

**Oh dear. Brock's been caught out. What's Skye going to do now? You'll have to wait and see… tomorrow…**

**(It's all about to get REALLY EXCITING now, BTW…)**


	13. Curiosity Killed

**Chapter Thirteen – Curiosity Killed…**

_Eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains, however unlikely, must be the truth._

That was the thought running on an endless loop through Skye's mind all morning as she pretended everything was fine. Over the last couple of years she'd seen so many things she'd thought were impossible, she now discounted them as merely unlikely.

_Rumlow's the tiger_. How that was possible, she had no idea. But then she lived in a world where a man turned into a giant green rage monster; the possibility that another man who had been experimented on by scientists with no moral compass whatsoever should be able to turn into an immense white tiger really wasn't at all implausible.

_He'll never admit it_. Of that, she was very sure; but Skye wasn't about to give up on proving her theory. So she let him fuss over the bump on her head, decided to go back to bed in the early afternoon and slept. And that night when she went to bed, she dressed very quietly, lay down on the bed and waited, running through the plots of movies in her head to keep herself awake.

Rumlow was very quiet, but Skye heard the soft click of the cabin's outer door closing about an hour later. She counted to one hundred before going as quietly as she could into the main room and very carefully easing the door open.

Rumlow stood at the bottom of the steps, completely nude, just stepping away from the clothing he'd folded neatly beside the steps. Skye had to put her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from exclaiming in shock.

_Oh my word that man is built like a Greek god._ She couldn't quite help feasting her eyes greedily on him; in the moonlight he was all smooth skin over chiselled muscle, a marble statue that belonged in an ancient Athenian temple. _Ares, the god of war_, Skye thought whimsically, watching as Rumlow dropped to a crouch, setting his hands on the ground.

He tipped his head up, looking at the moon, and let out a low cry that slowly deepened to a deep, thunderous roar as he _grew_, his body shifting and reforming, the thick black and white fur rippling across his skin.

Skye's eyes widened behind the hand she had pressed over her mouth. That wasn't what she had expected. She'd seen (_very_ classified) footage of Bruce Banner transforming into the Hulk, and even when he did so voluntarily it didn't look easy, or comfortable.

Rumlow had just made that shift look like the easiest, most natural transition possible, if it were _possible_ for a man transforming into a huge tiger to be natural. It had taken, she thought, less than ten seconds.

The tiger lifted its head and sniffed the air.

_Ohhhh shiiiiit…._

The huge head snapped around, golden eyes fastening on her. Skye took a slightly panicked step back – and then the shift reversed and Rumlow was leaping up the steps, uncaring of his nudity, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard.

"God _damn_ it, Skye!"

"_You're_ the tiger," she said, still disbelieving of the evidence of her own eyes.

"Yes, I'm the fucking tiger, _shit_! Are you happy _now_?" he glared down at her, his eyes gleaming gold.

"_How?_"

"Whitehall, how'd you fucking think?" he turned away, took a couple of steps away, running his hands through his hair in agitation.

"But how did he not keep you in a cage? How did he ever let you go?" almost against her will Skye's eyes dropped to his ass as he turned his back on her. It was quite definitely the most magnificent ass she'd ever seen, tight and hard. She couldn't help but stare.

"He never knew what he'd made." Rumlow rested his hands on the porch rail and stared out into the night, his shoulders sagging. "_I_ didn't know, not until I was away from people and out in the wilderness. The tiger doesn't like people."

"The tiger's still you though, isn't it?" she moved up behind him, touched his back very lightly, her fingertips a moth's wing caressing over the heavy plate of muscle covering his shoulder blade. "Because otherwise it would have killed me last night."

"It's still me." He shrugged. "Sometimes I'm just a different shape. Sometimes I'm more tiger than man, sometimes more man than tiger. My instincts are – different than how they used to be. You ran last night, so the tiger chased you, it was just a natural reaction. It – I – wanted to play, not feed, though."

Skye couldn't quite help the nervous, involuntary giggle that escaped her. "Like a cat playing with a mouse even though it's already had dinner?"

Standing slightly to the side, she could see the reluctant grin that curved his mouth. "Something like that, though I'd never have hurt you. I was horrified when you fell." He turned, lifting his hand, brushed her bangs aside and caressed the bump on her forehead, much less swollen now than it had been earlier. "I never want to hurt you, Skye." His hand cupped her cheek lightly. "Never." His voice was a soft, husky rasp.

They stared at each other for a long moment in silence. And then Skye took a small step closer, her hands coming up to rest on his bare chest. "Brock," she whispered.

"_Skye_," it was a low purr of her name that made a shiver go right through her.

Slowly, staring into his eyes, she slid one hand up his chest, caressing the thick, beautifully defined muscles. Curved her hand around the back of his neck and pulled gently, going up on tiptoe to meet him halfway, her eyelids fluttering closed as his lips came down to hers.

It was a very different kiss from the angry, explosive one they'd shared almost a week past. This one was slow, tasting; Brock curling his arm around Skye and lifting her against him as her lips parted softly under his. His hot tongue flickered against hers briefly; too briefly, she sought after it again hungrily and then he was moving, setting her bottom on the porch rail and dragging her knee against his hip, grinding his arousal against her crotch through the thin layer of her clothes that was all that separated them.

Skye let out a soft moan of hunger into his mouth, her hand on his chest curving into claws, scratching at his skin lightly. Winding her legs around his waist to press herself closer, she flung her head back as he kissed his way down her neck, uncaring of the drop behind her, trusting that he'd never let her fall. His arms were a tight cage of muscle around her, so strong. So _safe_.

"Brock," she whimpered as he nipped at her throat.

"I want you," it was a throaty growl. "I want you _so fucking bad_, Skye."

"Yes." She was delirious with need, with the tension that had been slowly building between them for days, both of them trying to pretend it wasn't happening. She rocked her hips against him deliberately and he licked her neck, startling a low cry out of her because his tongue was _rough_, like a cat's, like wet velvet dragging over her skin. Instantly she wanted to know how it would feel everywhere on her body, wanted _him_ everywhere on her, _in_ her.

"_Please_," it was a whimpering moan, and he lifted her, carried her inside the cabin, through to the bedroom. Laid her tenderly on the bed and knelt above her, reaching to pull off her shoes.

Frantic, Skye dragged off her shirt, unclipped her bra; but then his big hand came up and pressed gently on her shoulder.

"Sshh. No rush. Be still; let me savour you."

"But I want you, please Brock, _now_!"

"Sshh," he leaned in to kiss her, slow and leisurely. "We've got all night. I want to do this right, take my time with you."

She whined impatiently in her throat and he chuckled softly. "Are you going to make me use the shackles?"

Skye froze, wide-eyed. "N-no," she whispered at last.

Another chuckle as he kissed slowly down her throat again. "Sure about that?"

"Maybe – another time?" because she couldn't deny the thought was an enormous turn-on, had been from the very first time he'd teasingly suggested it. Every time she'd got into bed and looked at the shackles still fastened to the heavy wrought-iron frame she'd thought about him using them on her, securing her to the bed and driving her wild. More than once she'd slipped her fingers down between her thighs and come thinking about it, biting her lips to keep from crying out his name, her cheeks burning with shame that she found the thought so arousing.

"Another time then." His tongue flickered over one furled nipple and she moaned deliriously at the amazing sensation.

"Oh God, your tongue, Brock!"

"Rough, isn't it?" he replaced his tongue with his fingers, swirling lightly around her breast as she arched upwards into his touch. "You like it?"

"Nnnnn," was all she could manage as he suddenly swiped it over the other nipple.

"Want me to use it _everywhere_?" strong fingers plucked at the waistband of her jeans.

"Oh God yes, please," Skye agreed. And he _laughed_, the bastard, lowering his heavy body down on hers so his stomach pinned her hips in place, settling in to take his time playing with her breasts.

"Not yet. I'm not done here yet."

"You're _such_ an asshole," she groaned as he drew his tongue up in a slow lick from her navel between her breasts, circling slowly around one until he reached her nipple.

"That right?" he used the edge of his teeth, very lightly, grinning as she shuddered and moaned. "That's why you're letting me do this and begging for more, is it?"

"Please shut up and _oh God_," Skye lost all ability to think as he started rasping his tongue over her nipple repeatedly, quick hard licks that were almost, but not quite, painful, sending bolts of sensation through her body. "_Oh God please_."

"Whatever you want," he murmured against her breast. "I'll give you anything you damn well want, angel. But I'll do it in my own time."

She could only moan deliriously as he transferred his attentions to the other breast.

**Smuthanger.**

**Obviously.**

**Can't do justice to this epic upcoming sex scene without a whole new chapter of its own ;-)**


	14. Loss Of Control

**Chapter Fourteen – Loss Of Control**

It was torture of the most exquisite kind; Skye had never experienced anything like it. She was hardly an innocent, had shared her bed with a fair few men, though none since Miles, and it was over a year ago now since that last disastrous hookup. She'd thought Miles, a few years older than her and experienced, was a good lover, but he had absolutely nothing on Brock.

Brock was just. So. _Patient_. There was nothing hasty about his lovemaking, even though she'd felt how aroused he was when they kissed on the porch. He was unhurried, though certainly not casual, exploring every inch of her torso with his fingers and mouth, rasping his rough wet-velvet tongue over every sensitive spot multiple times until she was writhing and moaning, begging frantically for _more_.

She could only reach his head or his thickly muscled shoulders; sinking her nails in made him growl in his throat and bite down lightly on some tender spot until she stopped, but he made sounds almost like purring when she ran her fingers into his thick, slightly wavy black hair and scratched lightly at his scalp.

Knowing now what he was, Skye couldn't help but realise how catlike Brock was in everything he did, from the smoothly economic grace of his movements, not a single wasted motion, to the fuck-you-I-do-what-I-want independent attitude. And the big cats were ambush predators, patiently waiting for their moment to strike, even as he was patiently working her up to a state of utter mindlessness before finally lifting his weight off her and unfastening her jeans.

"Beautiful," Brock murmured, kissing and licking his way down Skye's flat stomach as he lifted her hips to ease her jeans over them. "So very beautiful." She shuddered, made a high-pitched keening sound as he swirled his tongue in her navel. He licked his lips as he moved lower, already anticipating tasting the sweet cream he could scent welling with Skye's arousal. And then his lips brushed over a patch of roughened skin.

"Hmm." His fingers followed. There was little light, but his adapted eyes didn't need much. He lifted his head and looked, stilling as sudden rage welled in him. "Who did this to you?"

His voice was a harsh snarl as his fingers brushed very lightly over the scars from the two gunshot wounds on her stomach.

"I promise I'll tell you," Skye almost panted, "_after_ you fuck me."

Brock growled, lips tracing over the sensitive skin. "Whoever did this is a dead man."

_Not yet_, she thought, but said nothing as he kissed lower. His strong hands lifted her hips, eased her jeans down and off completely, and then he pressed a kiss to her mons, over her panties. Skye shivered.

"So wet," his voice was low and dark, and then his tongue rasped lightly over the soaked fabric between her thighs. "Is this all for me, angel?"

"Yes," she said breathily as his fingers hooked at her hips, drawing her panties down agonisingly slowly. She grabbed at one of his hands, pulled it between her legs, ground against it. "Soaking for you. Gonna be so slick and hot when you slide into me, Brock…"

He laughed against her thigh, pulling her panties off completely. "Bad girl."

"Oh come _on_, you're driving me _insane_," she whined. "This isn't foreplay, it's torture!"

"Want to come, do you, angel?" He pulled his hand free of hers, pressed her hand down to her side before tracing his fingertip in a slow maddening circle around her clit.

"Gonna take care of business myself in a minute if you won't!"

"Shackles," was all he said, and she froze again with a little squeak of shock. "I will, you know. But not tonight. I don't think you trust me enough yet."

His fingertip was just brushing over her clit now, flicking teasingly. Skye was trembling in every limb, feeling the climax edging tantalisingly closer.

"Please," she whimpered, "oh Brock, please…"

"I got you, angel," he murmured, and then his tongue curled around her sensitive, aching clit.

She came so fast and so hard she lost control, for a brief instant, of her power. Fortunately it was only the bed that shook, and Brock being basically on top of her was able to hang onto her legs and keep from being thrown to the ground. As the tremor subsided he grinned against her and slid two thick fingers deep inside, crooking them to tease over the sensitive bundle of nerves, prolonging the climax until Skye was gasping for air, black spots swimming behind her closed eyelids.

"Stop, please, please, too much!" she cried out.

"Not enough," was all he replied before his rough tongue swiped.

"I can't, I c-c…"

"Yes, you can," he murmured between licks, and apparently she could no matter what her brain thought, because another wave hit, arching her body up off the bed into his hold.

He was crazy with wanting her, grinding his crotch against the mattress in a futile effort to put pressure on his arousal, slow down the building climax. Skye was so beautiful as she thrashed and sobbed beneath him, her cries music to his ears. He lapped thirstily at her juices, drinking her in, savouring every drop. The primal part of him was close to the surface now, though, insisting that it was time, that he needed to take Skye, claim her as his, put his mark upon her. And when she moaned his name in a high, breathy tone quite unlike her usual voice, he could no longer fight the need.

Skye was near-insensible, unaware that he left her for a few moments to go to the bathroom, digging hastily in the cupboard below the sink to find a long-abandoned box of condoms. But then he was back, gathering her in his arms, his lips warm against her throat.

"Brock," she groaned, her hands fluttering to his shoulders.

"I need you, Skye," his voice was ragged, a rough snarl. She forced her eyes open to see him staring down at her intently, his eyes gleaming golden.

"Yes." She tried to put her legs around him, but they were still shaking. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips, slid a big hand under her knee and lifted, opening her up for his possession.

Dripping with lust, she was still small, and tight as he eased his swollen cock slowly, gently into her.

"That's it, angel," he whispered against her cheek as her nails sank into his shoulders and she sucked in a deep breath. "Don't fight me." He could feel her tensing against the pressure of his invasion. "Let me in. You feel so good, so tight and wet, I'm not gonna last long for you…"

"Unnhhh, Brock, you're kidding," she mumbled as he eased deeper. "I can't take much more!"

"Much more of me, or much more pleasure?" he chuckled slightly. "I'm pretty sure you can take all of me, angel, I'm not _that_ big."

"Big enough," Skye groaned in response. He certainly was, in proportion to his powerful frame, long and thick enough that he had to go slowly, and she was grateful that he'd taken the time to prepare her thoroughly. More than thoroughly. She let out another strangled groan as his hips rocked against her, sliding back and forth, each time going a little deeper until she felt his pelvis press against hers.

"Ah, Skye," Brock had to stop once he was sheathed to the hilt, take a couple of deep breaths. "So tight," he muttered against her throat.

"It's just been a while," she gasped back. And then, since he didn't seem inclined to move and her body was screaming for him to do just that, she concentrated hard and deliberately clenched her vaginal muscles around him.

"Shit, Skye, _argh_!" His whole body quivered suddenly. "Don't – _uh_, don't _do_ that…"

"Yes, that!" She ran the fingers of one hand into his hair at the back of his neck, deliberately scratched lightly at his scalp, dragged the nails of the other hand down his spine. "_Now_."

He'd been in total control right up until that moment, Brock realised dizzily, and then with a few tiny movements she'd stolen it all. Taken everything from him but the frantic need to finish this, to bury himself deep inside her and blow his load. He couldn't help but start pumping, trying somehow to hold on long enough to make sure Skye enjoyed herself too, even though his balls were tightening and he could feel the imminent explosion building.

"Fuck, yeah," he snarled as she dug her nails into his hip, urging him on. He moved faster, pumping, leaning back and putting a hand to her breasts, squeezing a swollen nipple in time with his thrusts. Skye arched into his touch, her head falling back and exposing the long line of her pale throat, and the animal part of Brock suddenly knew what he had to do. What he wanted more than anything right then.

He was moving harder and faster, fucking her into the mattress, and suddenly both his hands were under her hips, bracing her so that he could slam to his full depth with each thrust. Bending over her, he licked at the sensitive flesh just below her ear. The roughness of his tongue just _there_, the brush of her nipples over his chest as he moved, the way his groin rubbed over her clit with every thrust, combined with the building pressure inside her, was a perfect storm of sensation for Skye. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream, body bucking hard as she came again.

A snarl burst from Brock's chest as he felt the inevitable, sucking grasp of Skye's climax, felt her small body lock around him. He bit down on her neck as his back arched, come exploding from his balls up his rigid length, flooding into the condom.

And then something else happened. Something that never had when he took himself in hand, as he'd done far too often thinking of Skye in the last few days. A curious prickling sensation around the head of his penis, a little painful but pleasurable enough to make his eyes roll back in his head at the same time, and he kept _on_ coming; he could feel the continuing little spurts surging up his still rock-hard cock.

Skye let out a choked sort of squeal and shuddered; he tried to pull back a little and she cried out with what was clearly pain and clutched at him.

"Ah, no!"

"Skye," he groaned, resting his weight on his elbows. "Ai, ah, something's happening…"

"_Don't_ move."

"Mm, 'kay…" It felt good, too good to want to move anyway. And Skye was enjoying it too, now he'd stopped trying to pull back, he could feel her muscles still clenching intermittently around his length, sucking still more come from his body until he felt drained utterly dry.

It was, he thought, about ten minutes before he felt himself begin to soften, the prickling sensation around the tip of his cock easing. Skye was still letting out occasional little sounds of pleasure as he kissed her, figuring that if they were stuck for a little while he might as well pass the time pleasurably – or even more pleasurably, anyway.

Finally he eased back and felt himself slip free of Skye. She sighed and stretched languorously, eyes opening wide with startlement as he swore.

"Fuck, shit, bollocks!"

"What?"

"Skye – I'm so sorry…" the condom was nearly _shredded_ around the tip of his cock, ripped in multiple places.

"What the _actual_ fuck?" Skye couldn't help but mutter incredulously as Brock swore again, getting off the bed and going into the bathroom to dispose of the useless scrap of rubber.

"Are you on birth control?" he asked, coming back in and looking down at her.

"Well I _was_, but you didn't exactly give me time to grab my packet of pills when you kidnapped me!" she snapped defensively, gathering a blanket around her.

He winced, rocked his head back on his shoulders. "Fuck."

"Yeah, well, we did that and apparently your eyes and your tongue aren't the only catlike things about you when you're in human form!"

He looked utterly puzzled. Skye sighed. "You didn't read up on feline mating habits, then?"

Brock's eyes widened. "I wasn't planning on going out and finding a female tiger to mate with, so no!"

Skye couldn't help but giggle at the look on his face. She patted the bed beside her and watched as he sat. "Barbs," she said succinctly, and giggled harder when he shook his head in confusion. "Male cats have small barbs on their penises. I think they're cartilage? Anyway. It helps them to lock inside the female so she can't escape during sex, and also to, um," how she could still blush around him considering the ridiculously amazing, incredibly intimate sex they'd just had, she couldn't imagine, but… "stimulate the female's pleasure. Apparently yours are sharp enough to render condoms completely useless."

Brock groaned and collapsed face-first into the pillow, swearing long and low in several different languages. Skye couldn't help but be impressed by the length of time he managed to go on for without, so far as she could tell, repeating himself.

"I take it you didn't know," she said when he finally fell silent.

"Fuck, no!" he turned his head to look at her. "It – well, I haven't felt them when I jack off. And I haven't been with another woman since I changed. I swear I had no fucking idea that was going to happen, Skye. Did it hurt you?"

"No," she shook her head. "Felt good, except that one moment when you tried to pull out." She decided not to mention the other function she remembered from the one time she'd read up on big cat biology. That the barbs were thought to help stimulate female ovulation. She shied away from the thought that he might very well have just gotten her pregnant. He'd tried to protect her, after all, it wasn't his fault that something he had no way to know about his own biology had just defeated his precautions.

She felt uncomfortably sticky between her legs, and after a moment got out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean up. Returning, she found Brock sitting in bed looking at her uncertainly.

"Do you want me to go?"

Skye shook her head instantly. "No!"

He smiled and held out his arms: she curled into them, a little self-conscious about her nudity until he pulled a blanket over them both. They lay quietly together for long minutes, relaxing, Skye's head on his chest, until she sighed and asked the question that had to be asked.

"What are you going to do with me?"

**Hmmm… that's a really good question now, isn't it?**

**Well, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what Brock's answer might be!**

**Hope you enjoyed that and it was everything you hoped for after waiting patiently this long for the smut… please let me know in the comments below!**


	15. Changes

**Chapter Fifteen – Changes**

"What are you going to do with me?"

For long, horrible moments Brock was silent. And then he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm not gonna insult you by thinking for a moment that you just seduced me over to your way of thinking. Truth is, Skye, from the first day I've not been comfortable with the idea of handing you over to Ward. He and Zabo did have me half-convinced that you'd been brainwashed by SHIELD somehow, but I've seen brainwashing and you're not what it looks like."

Skye smiled against his chest. "If anything, _Ward_ was the one brainwashed, by Garrett."

"Ugh, and there was a creepy bastard if ever there was one," Brock muttered. "Anyway." He ran his fingers through her hair slowly. "Whatever you feel about me," he said plainly, "I am fucking stupidly in love with you, Skye. But I have to ask you, what do _you_ plan to do about _me_?"

She leaned back, looked at him puzzled. "I don't understand what you mean?"

He sighed. "I have to protect myself. You understand that, don't you? One word from you in the wrong ear and I'll spend the rest of my life hunted, or caged, which would kill me pretty damn quick, I assure you. And Coulson would kill me on sight no matter what."

"I'll never tell another living soul about the tiger." That, she could definitely promise. "And as for Coulson – you might be surprised. He understands that people change. You'd have to prove yourself, but he'd give you a chance, I think, if I asked him to."

There was another long moment of silence, and then he said quietly; "You'd do that, for me?"

She looked up to his eyes, glowing faintly golden in the soft light. "Yes."

"I don't deserve that."

"That's not for you to decide." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "So. What's next?"

He brooded on it for a few moments. "I take you out of here. Today. I hope you'll forgive me if I blindfold you, because I want to keep this place as a bolthole just in case it all goes south for me – for _us_. This is the only place that's truly safe for me. For the tiger."

"I understand. I'll forgive you." She kissed his chest again, understanding his fear.

"And once I get you back to civilization, I give you my tablet and let you take it from there. I'll help you deal with Ward – kill him for you, if that's what you want. And your father, whatever you want to do with him, too." His arms were warm, strong around her, and she nestled her cheek against his chest and sighed.

"I don't know about Cal. Can I let Coulson decide?"

"You just give me the orders, angel. I'll do whatever you want." And with those simple words, he surrendered himself to her completely. After a moment, he traced his fingers lightly over the scars on her stomach. "You promised to tell me about these."

"Under duress," Skye said with a small smile, pressing another kiss to his chest to let him know she didn't mean it. "It was on Garrett's orders, HYDRA were trying to find out how Coulson came back from being dead. Ian Quinn shot me to try and force Coulson's hand.""

"Quinn," Brock murmured. "Cybertek?"

"That's him. Do you know him?"

"Oh, we've met. He tried to convince me to swap one of my eyes out for a cybernetic one. I declined. Not very politely."

Skye found herself smiling against his chest. "He was locked in the Fridge, but only for a little while before Ward and Garrett broke it open."

"Hmm." He said no more, but Skye could almost hear him thinking, turning over plans in his mind.

There was quiet between them for a little while. And then Skye propped herself up on her elbows and grinned at him.

"That's a dangerous look," Brock said wryly. "What do you want?" he already knew he was going to end up giving it to her. He couldn't resist her, this dark-eyed beauty who'd utterly stolen his heart.

"I want to see the tiger."

"Oh God."

"Please? Unless it would be dangerous?"

"No." He was quite sure of that. The tiger was still _him_, as he'd explained, and there was no way he could ever hurt Skye, no matter what form he was in. "Not dangerous. Fine, all right, but I have to go outside. I find it really difficult to change indoors, surrounded by – _human_ things. It's why I usually change out front of the cabin; looking out, it's wild enough for the tiger, but when I come back the very fact of the building helps me come back to being a man again."

"Come on then, let's go!" she sat up, eyes shining with excitement, and he huffed a laugh.

"All right. But put some clothes on. Bad enough me running around buckass naked in the wilderness."

She grinned and tugged on her discarded clothes when he picked them up for her, following him outside eagerly.

"Stay here for now," he stopped her at the top of the steps. "I don't know if I could change with another person too close."

Skye nodded, a bit wide-eyed. Reached up for a kiss, which turned heated for a moment before Brock pulled back, breathing heavily.

"Well, that certainly brings out my animal side," he quipped with a grin before heading down the steps.

The moon had set, but the moon didn't affect him. Brock didn't like the name were-tiger for himself, though it was probably the easiest description. None of the traditional 'were' things affected him – he'd tested silver on his skin and in his blood, and it hurt no more than steel. He could change day or night, unaffected by the moon. The only thing that did seem to affect him, as he'd said to Skye, was that the tiger part of him didn't like people, didn't like human things. It liked wilderness, the scent of the earth, the ground beneath its paws.

It liked the scent of Skye's musk still upon his body very much, too, he discovered as he shifted and the scent had him opening his jaws, breathing it in hungrily. He turned his head and saw her watching him, wide-eyed.

He couldn't speak, of course. The tiger had no human vocal chords. But his brain was still his own, his thoughts still primarily human, and when she said hesitantly; "Can I come to you?" he was able to nod his head in a very human-like gesture, after thinking about it for a moment.

Skye went down the steps hesitantly. She knew it was Brock, of course, but – well, it was a tiger nearly as tall as she was, jaws huge enough to rip her apart with one snap, and she didn't think she'd be human if that didn't set some very primitive instincts absolutely screaming in panic.

But he was _so beautiful_. The huge head lowered as she came close and then he butted playfully at her stomach, very gently but enough to knock her back a step. Laughing, she clutched at his fur, and groaned with pleasure as her hands sank to the wrists in his thick ruff.

"Oh God, that's the best feeling ever, you have the most gorgeous fur."

He wanted to moan with pleasure as her fingers rubbed his neck; it came out a deep, rolling purr, making Skye laugh incredulously.

"You sound like a tractor!"

The purr only deepened as she scratched at the base of his ears, and then he dropped to the ground and rolled, showing her his belly.

"That's just far too tempting, but if you're ticklish don't you dare bite me," Skye couldn't help but chuckle, crouching to sink her hands into the even softer fur on his stomach.

Brock just purred harder. Reached a huge paw and clouted it gently on her back, knocking her off balance so she sprawled onto him. Wrapped both front paws around her and completely failed to resist giving her face a lick.

"Argh!" she yelped. His tongue was way rougher as a tiger. "Careful, that feels like you're taking skin off!"

He huffed apologetically and rubbed his cheek on her hair. Purred even more happily as he realised the tiger's scent glands were secreting, marking her with his scent, even more than she already was, because the tiger's sensitive nose could pick up the scent of their lovemaking on her body, overlaying her own pleasant Skye-scent. He breathed deeply, memorising it.

Skye lay snuggling with Brock-the-tiger for long minutes. It was the most gorgeous feeling, her arms stretched into his soft belly fur, the low rumble of his purr reverberating through her body. "I am going to have to do this naked at some point," she murmured sensuously, "just because your fur feels so damn good. Not that I want to have sex with you as a tiger. That'd be weird."

He chuffed with laughter. And then slowly, reluctantly, shifted back. Because it was full daylight now and he needed to get the helicopter ready.

"This feels good too," Skye sighed, her eyes still closed, as she felt the fur under her cheek slowly smooth into skin, the furry paws around her back shift to muscular arms.

"Mm." He smoothed her hair where the tiger had ruffled it.

"Blake."

"What?"

"Blake. That'll be our nickname for the tiger, between us. I don't think _tiger_ is a word either of us should use, not ever, not if we're going to keep your secret. And, geddit, Blake, as in William Blake the poet – _Tyger, tyger, burning bright_?"

"I know the poem, yes."

"Plus Blake's a bit like Brock. So that's the tiger's name. He needs a name."

"All right, angel." He nuzzled at her hair for a moment longer, and then sighed. "We need to move. I need to get the chopper ready. Empty out the fridge and close the cabin up."

"I'll have a shower."

It was still a long moment before they let go of each other and got up, though.

**Couldn't quite resist having Skye meet the tiger before we get into the action part of the story!**


	16. Distractions

**Chapter Sixteen – Distractions**

Skye was just getting dressed when Brock came back into the bedroom.

"Skye, do you want to… holy shit."

"What?" she fastened her bra and looked up at him. He was staring at her, his mouth slightly open, pupils of his golden eyes dilated. She looked down at herself. "Oh." She'd put on the black satin push-up bra and matching thong panties she'd arrived in. Obviously he liked the view. Cheekily she cocked one hip, put her hand on it and gave him a sultry pout. "See something you like?"

"Nnnnggghhh," was about all he managed to get out before he took two quick steps to get to her, pulling her into his arms. Skye was very far from unwilling, reaching up to slide her arms around his neck, letting out a little moan against his mouth as he sought her lips.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," Brock almost panted, still barely able to believe that Skye wanted him too, as she lifted one leg to hook her knee around his hip. "I feel like an utterly filthy old man…"

"Shut up," she demanded, tugging at his shirt, "and get this off."

He obeyed, following as she pulled him back towards the bed. "You're young enough to be my daughter," he muttered guiltily.

"I already have one father I chose and one I'm unfortunately stuck with, trust me Brock, I don't see you as a father figure." She licked her finger and traced it down between the thick muscles of his chest. "As for you being older than me," Skye shrugged. "I don't care. Considering our lives, either of us could die tomorrow. I'm not going to live regretting that I didn't take what I wanted when I had the chance."

He couldn't argue with that philosophy. And certainly not when she sank back on the bed and pulled him down on top of her so his face was pressed right into her cleavage, plumped and lifted quite delectably by that scandalous bra. "We shouldn't," he mumbled, "since I can't use a condom…"

"Already took the risk and I'll live with the consequences, if there are any; now get that beautiful thick cock out and put it inside me again," Skye demanded.

He groaned at her filthy words. "You're wicked."

Her hands had been grabbing at his clothes, shoving his pants down, slim fingers curling around his swelling cock and tugging lightly. He was back to full hardness within moments, his own fingers sliding beneath dampening satin to flicker over her clit.

Skye hummed with pleasure as Brock kissed her breasts and fingered her gently; a little too gently for her liking, and she grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand harder against her.

"You're always in such a rush," he chided with a soft laugh, removing his hand from inside her panties entirely, causing her to let out a cry of distress.

"Brock, please!" She ran her foot down the back of his thigh, tried to pull him over her, but he resisted with laughable ease and she was reminded again of just how strong he was.

"Impatient girl." Strong hands turned her over and then he was kissing down her spine, deft fingers unclipping her bra and sliding it over her shoulders before his hands came around her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples with rough-tipped fingers.

"Unhh," Skye ground up against him, trying to catch his arousal between her thighs, excite him into _hurrying up_. A low chuckle was his only response, and then…

"Brock," she whined helplessly as he secured both her wrists in one of his big hands. She knew what he planned even before he reached for the shackle.

"Say no and I'll stop," he murmured against her shoulder. "I'm just going to put them on your wrists, not your ankles. I want to pleasure you, make it feel so good you'll never want me to stop."

She could hardly breathe with the thought of how much she wanted that. How much ecstasy she suspected he might be able to give her. "Yes," she choked out, and turned her head, trying to kiss him. "Do it. Please. Anything, you can do anything you want to me…"

"Oh, angel, what an offer." It was a low rumble deep in his chest, and then he clicked one shackle closed on her wrist.

She hadn't realised before, but they were padded with soft leather. Even when he hadn't known her, he'd been concerned for her comfort, and Skye's heart melted a little bit more with love for Rumlow, even as he secured the other shackle.

"Beautiful," he murmured, leaning back to survey his handiwork, before he reached to slide Skye's thong down her thighs, his thick fingers stroking gently back up the smooth skin until he curved both hands over her bottom. "God, you have the most stunning ass, angel. I could worship your ass."

She giggled into the pillow as he nibbled lightly on one pert buttock. "I'd much rather you did something else to it."

"Yeah?" he lifted his head, interested, saw her flush before she buried her face in the pillow. "Mm, how intriguing, the _possibilities_." Bending his head, he nipped at the tender skin at the very top of her thigh. "What fun I'm going to have, exploring what you like, angel."

"You just like torturing me," Skye mumbled into the pillow, her face flaming.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." He bit harder. She yelped and writhed, her thighs parting. Two thick fingers slid in, caressing, feeling how wet she was. "Let's see. How do you like this, wicked girl?" and his free hand came down in a sharp smack to her backside.

"Ah, very much, I see," Brock murmured as Skye let out a slight shriek, her hips bucking up against his hand and a further rush of juices soaking his fingers. "Are you going to be a bad girl for me, Skye? Because I gotta tell you, I love bad girls. Bad girls who need spanking occasionally."

She keened frantically as he smacked again, just a perfect amount of sharp pressure with the flat of his hand even as his fingers drove deeper inside her, hooking forward to find her G-spot, his thumb chafing over her clit.

"That's it," Brock encouraged softly as he felt sleek wet muscles begin to tighten on his fingers. "Just like that, angel, feels so good when you come on my fingers." He couldn't resist a taste, lying on his stomach between her legs and pressing his face in, licking around where his fingers were pumping slowly in and out. "Fuckin' perfect." He smacked one last time, and Skye came with a squeal of his name, her hands tightening into fists inside the restraints.

"Lovely," Brock whispered against her, lapping up the slick coating his fingers, caressing the reddened mark on her ass with his other hand before pressing kisses over it. "So responsive, I fuckin' love it."

"Please," she whimpered, grinding back against his hand. "Please, Brock, I really want you to fuck me."

He grinned, kissing slowly up her spine. "All in good time, angel."

It was then that Skye realised she really shouldn't have let him shackle her. Because now she couldn't even get her hands on him to encourage him to greater urgency. Could only roll her hips back against his hands and beg in increasingly frantic terms as he teased and tantalised her, lifting her to her hands and knees and using his calloused hands and rough tongue to explore what seemed like every inch of her body, discovering erogenous zones she didn't even know she had.

Delirious with pleasure and arousal, Skye alternately cursed him and pleaded for more. She was sure she was actually dripping onto the sheets by the time Brock finally took her again, easing gently into her from behind, his strong hands holding her hips steady so she couldn't just thrust back into his penetration and take what she was so desperate for.

Skye's eyes rolled back in her head as he finally reached full depth, the angle as he took her from behind meaning he could get even deeper. Her back bowed as she shuddered, feeling the pleasure beginning to peak again. He'd already taken her close to climax again countless times, pulling back just before she reached the brink with a low chuckle and a demand to "wait, it'll be better". But she couldn't stop it this time, her legs shaking, the chains on the shackles clinking as her whole body tightened convulsively.

Brock groaned deep in his chest as Skye's tight passage locked down on him again, but he wasn't done with her yet, not by a long shot, so he gritted his teeth and waited her out, waited until she'd softened again and he could move, setting up a rhythm of slow, shallow thrusts at first, gradually getting deeper and harder as he felt her begin to respond once more.

"That's it, angel," she was rocking her hips back to meet his thrusts, throaty cries spilling from her, her head hanging down, dark hair concealing her face from him. He wanted to see her suddenly, so he wrapped one powerful arm around her ribs and brought her up to him, shifting them both forward so the shackles didn't pull too hard on her wrists, his other hand curving around her jaw and turning her head so he could kiss her, nip at her plumply swollen lips.

"So good," Skye sobbed against his mouth as his big hands curved around her breasts again, plucking at her nipples, the sensation sending hot bolts of pleasure straight to her groin.

"Yes you are," he murmured back, kissing along her jawline, hearing the wet slap of flesh as he thrust hard and deep into her welcoming heat. He licked her tender throat, kissed over the bite mark on her neck he'd left there earlier, gave into the urge to sink his teeth in again, though he was careful not to bite too hard, not wanting to tear her flesh.

He was still playing with her breasts, the heels of his hands against her ribs bracing her for his thrusts even as he rolled and squeezed her nipples between finger and thumb. Completely lost in sensation, Skye's head rolled back against his shoulder, her moans increasing in volume as her pleasure began to peak again.

"Please don't stop," she almost sobbed it, and he laughed gruffly against her neck, sliding one hand down across her flat stomach.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to, love," Brock whispered against her ear, and then he pinched her clit lightly.

"Yeah, ahhh, _hnnnn_, just _there_!" Skye writhed and groaned against him as he pinched in time with his thrusts, sending her practically into orbit. And then she felt it, felt him stiffen and spurt hotly inside her, the odd, almost _stroking_ sensation against her cervix as his barbs locked them together. It felt amazing, prolonging her orgasm far beyond what she'd have ever believed possible.

Brock groaned as Skye's body sucked his seed from him, drawing repeated pulses down his cock as her muscles milked him hard. The light prickling sensation around the tip of his cock felt even better this time around, and he clamped one arm like an iron bar around Skye's ribs, supporting her weight and ensuring that she couldn't even try to pull away and risk hurting herself before it settled. Not that it appeared she wanted to. She was grinding down on him even harder and moaning his name, her silky dark hair falling against his chest just another in the myriad of amazing sensations that drove him right out of his mind.

They collapsed to the bed together when he finally softened enough to slip out of her, Brock bracing himself and rolling to the side so that he didn't crush Skye beneath his weight. She sighed happily and rubbed her head against his chest as he reached to release her from the shackles.

"Good, angel?"

"Um, _so_ good," Skye sighed as he released her hands, bringing them down and chafing his fingers over her wrists lightly. "Good is such an inadequate word. _Spectacular_, maybe."

"Earth-shaking?" he joked, and she poked him in the ribs.

"That's not funny."

**YOU'RE NOT FUNNY, Brock.**

**Really damn good at sex, though…**

**To the Guest who left me an anonymous review on Chapter 15 on that read as follows:**

"_**I did **_**(I presume you meant 'find')**_** it ironic and a little hypocritical how you can redeem Brock in a story but not Ward and especially when Brock was 100% legitimately Hydra but Ward never was (because as stated many times in the show by Ward and others he was loyal to Garrett but not Hydra). So basically you're only redeeming someone like Brock to make the ship with Skye sail. A character like Ward will probably be one day redeemed but a character like Brock won't be because he actually believed in Hydra and believes in being evil."**_

**Firstly, this is a **_**fictional**_** story about **_**fictional characters**_** in a **_**fictional universe**_**. It's actually more of a challenge to a writer to redeem a 'villain' – properly, and with logical reasons – than to write just 'good guys', I find. I actually find Rumlow a good deal more redeemable than someone like, ooh, Loki, for example. Who a lot of people just redeem without delving into his motivations at all (I've done it too, for Shorts purposes only).**

**Secondly, did you READ the story to this point? I very clearly covered Rumlow's reasons for both joining and leaving Hydra, LONG before Skye entered the picture. I found them reasonable and logical – and so did a lot of my readers, who complimented me on a sensible approach that made sense for an intelligent human being to take.**

**And thirdly – I don't think many people '**_**believe in being evil'**_**. That's a simplistic, black-and-white view of any world. And as Skye is learning – Agents of SHIELD is after all, her superhero origin story – there are a lot of shades of grey out there. Personally I believe someone like Rumlow is a lot more redeemable than Ward. Because Rumlow is, quite simply, **_**wrong**_**. And it's more than possible for a smart person to figure that out. While Ward, **_**in my opinion**_**, is crazy. Paranoid, possibly schizophrenic, likely bipolar, co-dependent (on first Garrett and now Skye), utterly selfish and probably incurable. Yes, it's his past that has 'made' him this way. But some people **_**you just can't fix**_**.**

**Having said that – no, I don't believe Rumlow will ever be redeemed in canon. Crossbones is a bad guy in the comics and I'm guessing he'll stay that way in the MCU. So will Loki – and Doom – and so, almost certainly, will Ward, since his character is becoming the Taskmaster, who is very much an anti-hero if not precisely a villain. This does not preclude me, as a fanfiction writer, from writing **_**WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT TO ABOUT THEM**_**. It's **_**my**_** AU. If you don't like it… there are literally thousands of other fics for you to read instead.**

**I can only assume you're a SkyeWard shipper. In which case? You should probably stop reading any of my work featuring Agents of SHIELD characters now. I'll be a nice person and say I hope your OTP ship, whatever it may be, sails one day. But until then? Please don't be rude about other people's chosen ships. I am the multi-shipper of all multi-shippers, I'll ship nearly anyone with just about anyone else and I don't judge other people's choices – or if I do, I try not to be overtly rude about it. I just don't read it. **

**That said, the day SkyeWard becomes (consensual) canon is the day I'll stop watching AoS. I cannot, and will never, approve of anyone doing 'what they think is best' without regards to another sane adult person's choices, as Ward did to Skye when taking her to her father. As just ONE example of why I do not like his character. (Brett Dalton, incidentally? I ADORE him).**

**As my mother's always told me – if you don't have something nice to say, **_**don't say anything**_**. I have no objection to **_**constructive**_** criticism, indeed I welcome it. Flames? Especially anonymous ones where the author is effectively left with no right of reply – unless they're willing to call you out openly, as I am here?**

**_Rude._ **

**Please don't make me have to start moderating my guest reviews again. It's dull, and I do believe in free speech. I believe in the right of reply too, though, so please. Have the courage of your convictions and put a name to it so we can debate this like thinking grownups. (I'm doing you the courtesy of assuming you are one.)**

**This has been your lesson in manners, and hopefully in **_**thinking**_** before you metaphorically open your mouth.**

**Love, ozhawk (not my real name, oddly enough. I don't need to know yours either)**

***rant over***


	17. Time To Move

**Chapter Seventeen – Time To Move**

"We need to move," Brock said reluctantly a little while later.

"I know," Skye mumbled happily against his chest.

"Are you going to do that thing where you verbally agree with me and then do totally the opposite again?"

"Yup."

"It's aggravatingly endearing." He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her, long and slow, feeling her melt against him. And then he lifted his head. "While I would love nothing more than to stay right here with you forever," he murmured softly, "we both know that the sooner we move, the better chance we have of thwarting whatever repulsive plan Ward and Zabo are cooking up to make you comply with their demands."

Skye sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know you're right," she confessed, "but I – I'd much rather stay here too and pretend it's not happening."

Brock said nothing, and after a long moment Skye opened her eyes and looked up at him, her mouth quivering unhappily, the vulnerable look on her face piercing him to the heart.

"Oh, angel," he muttered thickly, holding onto her more tightly. "Don't look like that, please don't. I won't let them anywhere near you, I swear it."

She clung to him, an awful premonition stealing over her that this was going to cost her Brock, one way or another. Just when she'd found him, a man she could truly rely on. Could trust _herself_ to, because she did. He trusted her with his deepest secret; how could she do less than trust him with her heart?

She pressed her cheek against his chest, trying to suppress the tears. Felt the warmth of his powerful arms around her, one broad hand stroking her hair soothingly until she finally felt able to pull away and look up at him.

"We'd better get going."

"All right. But please don't wear that sexy underwear. I won't be able to concentrate on flying if I know you're wearing that underneath your clothes." He said it tongue-in-cheek, and she narrowed her eyes at him before dealing a light slap to his chest.

"I'll wear what I like, you asshole." Skye knew he was joking. He'd shown a wicked, if deadpan, sense of humour over the last few days.

"And very fucking sexy you look in it too," he sighed as she pulled the flimsy scraps of black satin back on. "It'll be all your fault if we crash."

"No it won't, it'll be yours, because you can't keep your mind out of your pants."

"_Your_ pants, actually…" he chuckled as she threw his shirt at his head, catching it easily. But at least she was smiling again, which had been his aim.

Brock had pushed the helicopter outside, jacked it down off its wheeled trolley and prepared for flight, Skye saw as they headed downstairs. The gun safe stood open and she couldn't resist a look inside; he didn't try to stop her. There was a satellite receiver there and a high-end tablet computer plugged into it. She reached out and he put his hand gently over hers.

"Not here. Please. I don't transmit from this location."

Skye nodded, understanding his need for security, and Brock stooped and came up with something from the bottom of the safe that made her grin. "My boots!"

"And your gun." He pulled the holstered pistol out of one boot. Tipped the magazine out of the other. "I cleaned it for you."

She put her boots on, threaded the holster onto her belt. It was amazing how much more confident she felt with just those small changes. She watched as Brock moved around, gathering weapons of his own from the safe and putting them into a large case along with the tablet computer before stowing the case in the helicopter.

"Ready to go?" he turned to her finally, and she nodded. He held up a long strip of black cloth.

Skye didn't hesitate for a moment. She let him wind the strip around her eyes, his fingers gentle, ensuring that her hair didn't snag as he tied off an efficient knot.

"Can you see anything?" Brock asked quietly. Trusting Skye to tell him the truth.

She shook her head, and he couldn't resist snatching a kiss. "I'm very tempted to take you back to bed right now, you know. This definitely has fun possibilities."

"Kinky bastard," she snickered, and he laughed.

"Yes, well. Maybe I am, a little bit, but it's all about your pleasure, angel, you gotta know that. There's nothing more beautiful to me than seeing you come apart in my arms."

Skye's lips parted on a soft gasp. "I – I really think you'd better put me in the helicopter now, or we _will_ be going back to bed," she mumbled.

He hesitated for a long moment, unbearably tempted. A glance at the sky decided him. There was a bit of weather rolling in: it didn't look too bad but if they didn't go now they might have to wait another day. And he had a truly ominous feeling that they needed to get working on thwarting Ward and the Doctor's plans right away.

"All right, Skye," and to her surprise he picked her right up off her feet and deposited her gently in the helicopter's passenger seat, chuckling at her squeak of surprise, pulling the harness around her and securing it tightly. "Okay, two minutes while I just secure the cabin, and we'll be off."

She sat still and quiet, waiting until she felt him settle into the pilot's seat beside her and start flipping switches. He reached over and settled a headset on her head, after a moment she heard a muted roar as the engine began, and then Brock's voice spoke in her ear, altered by a little bit of static.

"You okay, Skye? There's a mike in your headset, you can talk to me."

"I'm fine. How long's the flight?"

"A little over an hour to the place where we'll refuel. Then a couple more hours. I won't ask you to keep the blindfold on the whole time. Just until the refuelling stop."

"Okay." She resolved not to ask what it was called. She would repay his trust if it killed her. "So where do we go after the refuelling stop?"

"Quebec City."

"So we _are_ in Canada."

"Yes, we're in Canada." His voice was amused. She could hear him flicking switches, and then the helicopter was shifting slightly before she felt it lift off the ground.

"Why do I have the feeling that I was never going to see any wolves or bears near the cabin?" she asked after a few minutes.

He laughed quietly. "They stay away from my valley these days. The tiger's a bigger predator than they are."

"Blake's a bigger predator than _everything_," Skye chuckled. "How long have you had the cabin?"

"Quite a few years. My mother was Quebecois, not from that area, but – anyway, I started building the cabin a few years ago, when I was still with the SEALs actually. When I joined STRIKE I sought and gained special permission to spend my two weeks annual leave completely off the grid, came up here and worked on it."

"You built the whole place," Skye marvelled, "of course you did, you insanely competent person."

She heard his soft chuckle again, and then he softly asked her to be quiet for a moment because he needed to radio in to a control tower. It didn't seem like too much longer before he said;

"You can take the blindfold off, angel. We'll be landing in a couple of minutes."

"I don't mind."

"I love you for saying that, but there might be folks on the ground close enough to see and wonder why I'm flying around with a blindfolded girl. Don't want people saying that's the only way I can get a girlfriend."

Skye cracked up, reaching up to unfasten the knot in the strip of cloth. "I'm going to assume that kidnapping isn't your usual method of picking up girls?"

"You're definitely my first." He cast her a sidelong look and a grin as she uncovered her eyes. "And my last."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said pertly as he brought the helicopter deftly in for a landing on a concrete pad. There were indeed people about, she saw, two mechanics working on another helicopter close by and others in the distance. One of the mechanics raised a hand to Brock in a cheerful wave as he got out of the chopper, and he waved back but didn't go over.

It didn't take long before they were back in the air again, and Skye was able to look around. The landscape was wildly beautiful, few signs of civilisation around until they finally started getting closer to Quebec City.

"What do you want to do?" Brock asked finally.

Skye had been thinking about that as they flew, worrying over the problem. Coulson would – _should_ – be understandably wary if she just showed up. No doubt he'd want Bobbi to interrogate her, see if she'd been brainwashed, and the science twins would want to run tests to see if HYDRA had done anything nasty to her. She could live with all that. She'd been there before. It was Brock who was the issue, because she had the nasty feeling that May, in particular, would shoot first and ask questions later. But she didn't want to be separated from him, not at all.

"I don't know," she confessed. "Protocol says they have to isolate and examine me first."

He nodded calmly. "Yes, I'd expected that. You're worrying about me, aren't you? Don't."

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt," Skye said plaintively.

"Then I think the best thing to do is for me to surrender myself to you. Tell them you've escaped and taken me prisoner. Even May will want to get information out of me before she puts a bullet in my head."

"You hope!"

He smiled. Skye started biting her fingernails.

**Thank you very much to everyone who was so lovely and supportive of me having a little anti-flaming rant yesterday. As I told a few of you, I actually wasn't upset at the **_**comment**_** at all. I was, however, enraged at the **_**action**_** of the anonymous flame. Flaming's rude. Anonymous flaming is beyond the pale.**

**It broke my heart that a few people told me that they'd stopped writing – or stopped putting their work out there – because of flames. THIS, PEOPLE. THIS is why you DO NOT FLAME. How do you know that you haven't just deprived the world of the next Tolkein or JK Rowling or Joss Whedon or (insert genius here) with your selfish rant?**

**If you have an issue with what an author's writing, invite them to open a debate with you about it. I guarantee I, at least, will take the bait. At worst, you'll decide they're a dickhead and never read another piece of their work. At best – you might provoke a debate that leads to that author writing the most amazing piece of fic you've ever read. That **_**one piece**_** you go back to whenever you're in need of a pick-me-up. (You know. The Princess Bride of fanfic. THAT.) Most likely, it'll be a result somewhere in the middle. Which is OK too. You and the author might both learn something, and knowledge is never a waste of time.**

**Let me tell you something about me and where I'm coming from.**

**I will be 40 years old in April. I've lived and worked on 3 continents. I gave up literally everything I've ever known and everyone I'd ever loved to follow the man of my dreams halfway around the world, to a country I'd never previously visited, and I've never regretted that decision for a moment. I've been married to that man for over 12 years and we have two beautiful sons, conceived through IVF. And I'd burn the world down for their sake without a second thought. **

**I have a degree in engineering and I once worked as a bone-fide rocket scientist. I'm now a part-time silversmith – and I aspire one day to be a full-time author.**

**I've had my share of bad relationships (or as I like to put it, kissed my share of frogs before I found my prince). I suffer intermittently from anxiety and depression and I have a paranoid, bipolar sister. I've lost friends and family to cancer, suicide and horrible accidents. I was once a victim of an attempted sexual assault – I had enough martial arts training to put my attacker in hospital – and thank God for CCTV cameras, because my attacker attempted to claim I mugged him!**

**In conclusion, I've LIVED. I've been in the world, I've seen the good and the bad. I try to THINK about the characters I write, to give them logical motivations and backstories that lead them to the actions I choose to have them take. I have gained some wonderful friends through this fandom, and never fear, it will be a long time before I stop writing in it.**

**Thank you all, for your support and love,**

**ozhawk,**

**March 2015**

**(my tumblr is ozhawkauthor, for anyone who wants to chat with me about this over there)**


	18. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter Eighteen – The Best Laid Plans**

They landed in Quebec, not at the main airport but at a smaller field where it turned out Rumlow had a small hangar. With a plane in it.

"You're just full of surprises," Skye shook her head, looking at the plane. "This is yours too?"

"Longer ranged than the chopper," Rumlow was busy, folding the helicopter's vanes for storage before going to the plane and starting pre-flight checks. "You tell me where you want to go, angel. Oh," he stopped and opened the case with his weapons, taking out the tablet and switching it on, tapping in a long sequence of keys to decrypt it. "Here."

Skye took the tablet almost hesitantly. "I should maybe tell them to meet us somewhere not too populated?"

"Up to you. I don't think they'll come in shooting either way, they won't want to risk you."

She hesitated so long that the tablet turned itself off and he had to come over and decrypt it again, pausing to put his fingers under her chin and tilt her face up, giving her a long, slow kiss. "Skye. Everything's going to be fine."

"I wish I was as confident as you are," she muttered, but this time she flicked her fingers over the screen and opened a window, calling up one of her encrypted, anonymous email accounts.

A few minutes later, she was sitting cross-legged on a tool chest, waiting, when a ping alerted her. She opened the message slowly, almost dreading what she'd find, but it was a standard response asking her for a code word, one that would validate that she wasn't under duress. She entered it and sent it back.

The response came almost immediately; co-ordinates for a runway. She pulled them up in a mapping app and found that it was only about sixty miles from the Playground. "Brock," she called him over. "We need to go here."

He came over to look, hummed to himself for a minute thoughtfully. "That's right at the outer limit of the plane's range. Best to make a refuelling stop first."

"You're the pilot." And he was just as calmly competent with the plane as he had been with the helicopter, she discovered when he had them in the air again within thirty minutes.

They stopped at a little airfield in Pennsylvania, ate while Brock had the plane refuelled, and then headed on. Skye had sent Coulson an ETA and received no acknowledgement in response. The lack of anything other than brief responses had her really spooked.

But not as spooked as she was when Brock taxied the plane gently to a stop and suddenly out of invisibility cloaking appeared not one but _two_ quinjets _and_ the Bus, all hovering in mid-air with weapons trained on them.

Brock lifted his hands off the controls, took a pair of heavyweight handcuffs out of his pocket and held them out to Skye. "Put them on me."

"No." Her mouth trembled.

"Skye, _put them on me_. I'm not armed, but they're never going to believe you've taken me prisoner without some kind of evidence." He sighed when she shook her head stubbornly, snapped them on himself, cuffing his hands in front of him, and dropped the key on her thigh. "Let's go. You'd better go first, though."

He'd shown her how to open the door, so she did, stepping out carefully onto the tarmac and reaching back to pull him after her. But just before her hand closed on the chain linking his wrists together, something hit her unbelievably hard and fast from the side and swept her away from him.

"Brock! _Noooo!_" Skye screamed, reaching back, trying to get to him, and then she twisted around and realised she'd been grabbed by Iron Man. "Take me back or so help me God I'll quake this fucking armour right off you!"

"No can do, sweetheart," Tony Stark's mechanical voice said.

"I mean it!" she put one of her hands on his arm and sent a tremor through it.

"Fucking _ouch_, you madwoman!"

"Now, take me back _now_!" she could see over his shoulder that Captain America was storming the plane, a circle of agents standing around aiming guns – oh God, and she'd left Brock shackled and unarmed – could he break out of those cuffs? _Would_ he? "If they kill him I swear I'll kill _you_!" She sent another, bigger tremor into Tony's armour.

"Okay, okay!" Tony screamed with pain and reversed course. "Cap, hold up!" he called into his comm, glad the girl couldn't hear the muffled thuds and grunts of agony he was hearing through it.

He landed behind the circle of armed agents – just in case the girl really was brainwashed – and hadn't intended to let her go, except she sent another tremor through him and the servos in his arm failed.

"Coulson _stop_, stop it!" Skye screamed, getting away from Iron Man and bolting back towards the plane. Coulson turned, lowering his gun, and caught her.

"Skye, you don't understand…"

"I _do_ fucking understand, it's you who doesn't know what's going on oh my God." She could hear the noises now. "Stop him or I swear I'll quake this place. _Stop him_, Coulson!"

Phil's mouth tightened as he looked at Skye. "Captain Rogers, stand down," he said after a moment. "There may be – more to the situation than meets the eye."

There was silence. And then Captain America appeared at the door of the plane and threw Rumlow's body to the ground.

The scream that tore out of Skye made everyone wince, and then she yanked herself away from Coulson and ran.

Steve caught her before she threw herself on Rumlow's body – and she slapped both hands on his chest and quaked him as hard as she could.

Steve found himself flat on his back twenty feet away, blinking dazedly up at the sky. "What just happened?" he croaked vaguely.

"Agent Skye did," Tony told him dryly, flipping his faceplate up. "Seems she's one very dangerous young lady."

Skye fell to her knees beside Brock's body. He hadn't even _tried_ to put up a fight, she could tell, his hands still chained together with not so much as a scrape on his wrists from the cuffs. Bloodied and bruised, she couldn't even tell if he was still breathing.

"No, oh God, no," she sobbed, her fingers going to his throat, shaking so hard she couldn't find a pulse. "Jemma! Jemma, get over here, help him!"

Nobody moved, and she looked up after a minute to see Jemma being held back by Hunter. "You let her come and help him or – I don't know what I'm going to do but I swear to God none of you are going to fucking like it!"

A redheaded woman who Skye belatedly realised must be the Black Widow moved after a moment, holstering her guns and striding forward. "I have some medical training."

"If you kill him I'll kill _you_," Skye promised fervently.

"I gathered that," Natasha responded dryly, dropping to her knees on Rumlow's other side and starting to examine him. "He's alive. A few cracked ribs, perhaps…" she pried Rumlow's mouth open carefully. "No blood, his lung's not punctured. He'll live."

"Oh God," Skye dropped her forehead to Rumlow's, tears pouring down her face. And then she was on her feet, storming over to where Captain America was just trying to lever himself off the ground, and kicked him as hard as she could in the face.

"Hey!" a dozen voices yelled, guns came up and levelled on her, and she turned to face them all in rage.

"He just beat the shit out of an unarmed _prisoner_. Some fucking icon for justice you are," she spat at Steve, and stormed back over to Rumlow.

"I probably deserved that," Steve muttered, deciding discretion was the better part of valour and lying back down, hand to his head. "Ouch."

"In all fairness, so did Rumlow," Sam Wilson said with amusement. "After the elevator. And for nearly killing me."

"Mmm. Tip for you, Sam? _Don't_ piss her off."

"Wasn't planning on it. But I'm really hoping she's still on our side and Rumlow hasn't converted her over to his _order through pain_ philosophy. Because from the looks of you, she's _really_ good at the pain thing."

"Please wake up," Skye whispered, stroking Brock's stubbled cheek, her fingers trembling. "Oh God, Brock, please wake up."

He groaned before opening his eyes, and then mumbled her name as his eyelids flickered open.

Natasha sucked in a sharp breath at the gleam of gold, scrambling back and reaching for her guns.

"Put them _away_," Skye snarled, glaring at her, and somewhat to Natasha's own surprise, she did.

"Skye, angel," Brock mumbled before coughing, letting out a moan of pain and bringing his hands to his chest. "Are you all right?"

A tear ran down her cheek and dripped onto his face. "Am _I _all right? You impossible man, you just got beaten almost to death by Captain America and you ask if _I'm_ all right?"

"Eh," his smile was a little crooked but quite real. "I deserved it."

"You've suffered enough." She pulled the cuff key out of her pocket and released his hands, helped him up when he indicated he wanted to rise, encouraged him to lean on her shoulder. He did so heavily enough that she suspected he was hurting even more than he let on.

"We are _going_," Skye said angrily, glaring around, "to the medical bay on the Bus. Where Brock can get proper medical treatment and you can run any damn tests you want on me. And then you're going to _believe_ me and _listen_ to what we _both_ have to say."

"I think I like her," Tony said meditatively, "even though I think she broke my armour."

**Oh, diddums, Tony. Steve broke her Rumlow. You're lucky she only broke your armour.**

**And maybe Steve wouldn't have beaten an unarmed prisoner normally, but this **_**is**_** Rumlow. Who did do a lot of fairly dreadful things during CA:TWS. I didn't think it was too OOC for Steve to want to get a few licks in – but there was no way in the world Skye was going to let that go unpunished. (And yes. It needed to happen for the story).**

**And… I've run out of chapters. Will have to drop back to every other day posting for a bit while I work out where the fuck the plot is going and try to get ahead again. Sorry!**


	19. Burn The World

**Chapter Nineteen – Burn The World**

It was about six hours later by the time Coulson and the others were finally satisfied that Skye hadn't been brainwashed and neither she nor Rumlow had any implants, trackers or other HYDRA tech on them. After a quick check over in the med bay Rumlow had quietly told Skye he thought the others would be more comfortable if he was secured in the Cage. Everyone who'd known him before was extremely spooked by his eyes, and Barton had nearly shot him, after landing the Avengers' quinjet, before Natasha talked him down.

Rumlow was now chained to the interrogation table and also to the floor, heavy shackles he was unsure if even he could break holding him securely as he sat facing Bobbi and May. It was no surprise that these two had been sent in to him. Bobbi was reputedly as good an interrogator as the Widow and Romanoff was likely still too angry to think straight, whereas he'd never met Morse before. And May knew him as well as anyone, would be the most likely to be able to tell if he was telling the truth.

"Where did you hold Skye?" was the first question Bobbi asked, and he sighed. It was one of very few questions he wasn't prepared to answer.

"I'm sorry, but I won't answer that. And nor can she, because I kept the location secret from her."

"I thought you intended to be helpful?" May said angrily.

"I will answer any question you put to me other than a very few which are personal. Since I held Skye at a _personal_ property, and knowing about it isn't going in any way to be helpful to SHIELD, I decline to tell you."

May scowled. Bobbi tilted her head, studying him. "You were HYDRA, in deep from what I know. Why the change of heart?"

"I'd left them long before this. I was badly injured when the Triskelion fell; I know SHIELD had me down as presumed dead. Whitehall experimented on me. Saved my life, but turned me into one of his lab rats. I wasn't too keen on the idea and left as soon as I got the opportunity." He gestured at his eyes, as much as he could move his hands in the heavy clamps around his wrists. "Your Agent Simmons took a blood sample. She'll be able to tell you that my DNA is no longer entirely human."

"So you're what now?" May asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

He smiled tightly. "Another personal question, May. Sorry. Not going to answer that one fully. I'm not HYDRA and I'm stronger than I used to be."

May and Bobbi looked at each other. "Okay," Bobbi said after a moment. "So what _are_ you going to tell us?"

"Anything and everything you want to know about HYDRA. Or about the state of operations eight months ago, which is the last of my current knowledge. Their bases, their operations, which politicians they have in their pockets… all of it. And I'm not going to ask for anything in return, except one thing – the opportunity to take Grant Ward down myself."

They both stared at him flabbergasted – and then the door opened and Coulson came in.

"You're excused," he told the two women. They both looked uncertain, but obeyed his gesture towards the door, and Coulson sat down to face Brock himself.

"Tell me what's going on," Coulson said finally.

A small smile curved Rumlow's mouth. He knew what Coulson would be seeing, the scrapes and bruises that Rogers had marked him with already healing, his golden eyes glowing in the darkened Cage. He had to be a slightly unnerving sight.

"Finally, someone asked the right question. Ward and Doctor Zabo hired me to kidnap Skye. Fed me a bunch of bullshit about SHIELD brainwashing her. I didn't know enough about the new version of the Agency to know better. Not until I met Skye." His smile softened. "She's remarkable, Coulson. An amazing person." He looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. Gathered his courage for what he had to say next.

"It's possible she has Stockholm Syndrome. I have – fallen rather hopelessly in love with her, I'm afraid, whether she truly returns the sentiment at all I don't know. If she doesn't – well, the only thing I still want out of life in that case is the chance to destroy Grant Ward once and for all. Make sure he can never hurt her again."

Phil stared at him in silence for several long minutes. Brock was unaware of the anguish that had painted his features as he expressed his uncertainty over Skye's feelings.

"Stockholm Syndrome works both ways, you know, Rumlow," Phil said quietly at last.

"I am aware of that. I'm pretty sure that's not what's going on with me." He looked up, met Phil's eyes. "She _accepts_ me," he said softly, his tone wondering. "She knows what I am, what I've done, and she still accepts _me_. Even if she changes her mind, decides she can do better – and believe me I know she can do much, _much_ better – I love her enough to let her go. I won't turn into another Ward, Coulson, I swear it. Skye's choices are her own and I'll accept them whether she chooses me or not."

"I'm going to him." Skye was on her feet in the command centre. The Avengers were all watching her like she was some particularly interesting species of bug and she was thoroughly sick of it.

"Skye," May tried to stop her, and Skye paused briefly and looked into the dark eyes of the only woman she'd ever truly wished was her mother.

"I'm not going to leave him there wondering whether or not I care for _one more minute_," she said fiercely.

"But Skye, he could be right," Jemma said softly, and Skye hesitated. "It _could_ be Stockholm Syndrome. It's not easily diagnosed, and it _is_ quite common in kidnapping cases where the captor treats the victim well…"

Skye couldn't help but turn back to look at the screen. At Rumlow quietly talking as Coulson asked questions, answering every question as completely as he could, no prevarications. Nothing asked for in return. All for her sake. He was in there shackled to a table and the floor _for her sake_. She said nothing more, only left the room and headed for the Cage.

"This is all terribly interesting," Natasha was the one who broke the silence left in Skye's wake. "Now, Melinda. I'm thinking that there are possibly a _few_ things which you and Coulson might have omitted to mention thus far? Specifically – just _what the hell_ is Agent Skye?"

May winced.

"Take the shackles off," Skye barged into the Cage. "Take them _off_, Coulson!"

"It's all right, Skye," Brock looked up at her with a tired smile. "If this is what they need to feel comfortable, that's fine."

"No it's not. Take them off, Phil!" She couldn't bear to see him like that. Not when she knew the tiger part of him must be literally _screaming_ to get out.

Coulson hesitated for a moment, looking at Rumlow, who nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"I'm no threat to you." _Unless you hurt Skye_, was unspoken, but the implication hung in the air as his golden eyes slid back to her.

Coulson released his ankles first, then his hands. He stood to stretch his aching muscles – Rogers had really done a number on him, if he hadn't been enhanced he could well have died, Brock thought with a grimace as one of his ribs creaked. And then Skye's arms were sliding around his waist, holding on only gently.

"I'm all right, sweetheart," he pressed his cheek gently against her hair.

"Is Blake?" she said under her breath.

"Yes, everything's fine," he reassured. Not that he wasn't glad to be out of the restraints. He'd been exercising all of his control to stay calm and not let his feral side take over. It wasn't so much that he thought the tiger would come out, not here – but everything was calming now that he was free, with Skye in his arms. He looked over the top of her head at Coulson.

"I can't like it. You're twice her age," Coulson said point-blank.

"I tried that argument too. Doesn't work on her," Brock said with a dry smile, and to his surprise Coulson actually grinned back.

"Not a lot of arguments do."

"I'm discovering that."

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not here," Skye grumped at the pair of them, and then she pressed Brock to sit back down in the chair and settled herself on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing with contentment as his arms wrapped around her. "That's better. All right, Coulson. Ask questions."

Brock shrugged at Coulson, and after a minute Coulson sat down again himself and looked back down at the notes he'd been scribbling.

"Okay. So – where were we?"

Having not slept since the afternoon of the day before, it didn't take Skye long to drop off to sleep in Brock's lap, her head on his shoulder, the quiet rumble of his voice soothing her. He only adjusted his grip on her gently, making sure she was held securely in her relaxed state, and carried on quietly answering Coulson's questions.

Coulson watched, a little stunned. He'd known Rumlow quite well before, had co-ordinated the STRIKE team on many, many missions over the years. Had always thought the other man utterly ruthless, almost machine-like in his actions, and certainly not capable of deep feelings – or of inspiring such emotions in others! And yet here Rumlow was, sitting in a position that had to be somewhat awkward with no sign of discomfort, Skye cradled in his arms, stroking her hair tenderly and, Phil thought, quite unconsciously.

The way Skye was curled so utterly trustingly against him was telling too, Phil suspected. She twitched slightly in her sleep and Rumlow paused in his talking to press a light kiss to her brow and hush her softly until she stilled.

"You really do love her," Phil said quietly, interrupting Rumlow's description of a HYDRA base in Spain.

"I really do." It took only a second for Brock to redirect his thoughts. He met Phil's gaze steadily. "I'd burn the fucking world down for her sake."

Phil couldn't help but grimace, knowing what Rumlow was capable of – or had been, even _before_ he was enhanced! "Let's hope you don't have to."

**And yes, I used that line before, in the Skye/Rumlow Soulmate Short. But it was such a good sentiment for the way he feels about her – and the very fact that everyone knows he's quite capable of it – that I couldn't resist recycling!**


	20. A Common Goal

**Chapter Twenty – A Common Goal**

After a couple of hours, Rumlow asked Coulson quietly if he could put Skye to bed. She'd gone utterly limp against him, in a deep sleep. And while he was enjoying holding her like this, she really would be more comfortable in a bed.

"I can get someone to carry her," Coulson offered, and found himself shrinking back instinctively as Rumlow's eyes glowed brighter for an instant and he _growled_.

"I'm sorry," Brock murmured, closing his eyes and taking a few slow breaths to try and centre himself. "Part of what Whitehall did to me enhanced certain, let's call them _animal instincts_. The thought of another man touching Skye is – extremely upsetting to me."

"Morse could probably carry her…" Phil pointed out, "…but if you give me your word you'll come back here quietly afterwards and keep on answering questions, I'll let you do it."

Brock had to suppress another growl at the thought that Phil might be _letting_ him do anything. He only gave his word quietly, and then stood and followed Phil out of the Cage.

He wasn't too surprised, when he came out of Skye's tiny cubicle after laying her on her bed and tucking a blanket tenderly around her, to find Steve Rogers waiting. He held up a finger, gesturing Rogers to wait, while he quietly closed the door.

"You need to stay the fuck away from her," Steve said without preamble. "From what I hear she's a nice girl who's had a shit life. The last thing she needs is a lying bastard like you fucking her up further."

Brock tensed. Leaned back against Skye's door. "I won't stand still and not fight back this time, Cap," he said quietly, trying to remain calm even though he could _feel_ his hackles rising, "not if you try to separate me from Skye. She's well and truly had enough of other people trying to take away her free choice because they think they know what's best for her. You don't even _know_ her, don't you _dare_ try to make decisions for her because you _think_ you know _me_. You don't know me either. You never did, and you certainly don't now."

Steve stared at him for several long minutes. And then his broad shoulders slumped. "Shit, you're right," he muttered, and Rumlow grinned. Trust Rogers to accept the truth even when he didn't care for it. "All right. Skye's choice. But if she decides she wants you gone, I will be right there first in line to make sure you're damn well gone – _permanently_."

Rumlow inclined his head. And then Steve surprised him again. "Please will you tell me what you know about the Winter Soldier?"

"The Asset?" Rumlow blinked. "Why? He been giving you trouble? I'm surprised. I heard he disappeared off the radar after the Triskelion, HYDRA hadn't tracked him down again by the time I left."

"They hadn't?" Steve sighed. Gestured Rumlow to walk ahead of him back to the Cage, which he did, trusting that Rogers wasn't likely to attack him with his back turned. Not now, anyway. "Do you know who he is?" Steve asked once they were sitting down facing each other.

Puzzled, Brock shook his head. "Some Soviet weapon, from what I heard. I'd been told he was a Red Room product like Romanoff, but there was something really weird about him. I never heard of the Red Room girls being put in some kind of electric chair to brainwash them."

"In a _what_?" Steve went ashen. "Oh God."

"Pierce was in command of the project. They had this chair thing, put the Asset in it. I didn't see the whole process, but Pierce ordered him 'wiped' whatever that meant, and I heard him screaming before I had to leave. What the hell is the Winter Soldier to you, Rogers?"

Steve had run his hands into his blond hair, gripping, his expression growing more distressed with every word out of Brock's mouth. He slammed his hands down on the table. Brock didn't flinch even as the metal surface dented.

"He's Bucky Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes, my best friend. I thought he died back in '44 when he fell off a train, we were fighting HYDRA…"

"I know the story," Brock said slowly. "Who doesn't?"

"Yeah, well somehow he survived and HYDRA recovered him and did – _whatever_ it is they've done to him, quite apart from the new arm. We found a cryogenic preservation chamber in one facility we raided, we think that's how they've kept him alive this long."

"I think I feel sick," Brock said a bit faintly after a few moments.

"Not as sick as I feel, considering what you just told me they've done to him!"

"_If_ I needed one more reason to hate HYDRA, _that_ would seal the deal. I have a job to do, Cap, and then I'm all yours. I'll help you find Barnes, if you'll accept my aid. You have my word." He offered his hand.

Steve looked at it. Looked into Rumlow's yellow eyes. And slowly, he reached out and accepted the offered hand. "What's this job you have to do?"

"I have to kill Grant Ward." Rumlow's voice was calm. "While he lives, he'll be a threat to Skye. He's obsessed, and dangerous, and I'm not willing to let him walk around for one more day. If nothing else, it might finally give her a little peace of mind. She's living in terror of what he might do to her, or to people she cares about. I won't have it. Her father – her _real_ father, may need dealing with too. She's not truly sure what his motives are, but she's afraid of him, and I'm not going to let that stand either."

Steve nodded. "I can understand that. Well – Bucky's survived this long out on his own – I _hope_ he has, anyway. How about we help you take care of Ward, and Skye's father, and then you help me find Buck?"

"You got yourself a deal, Cap."

*o*o*o*o*o*

Skye instantly knew she wasn't alone when she woke. She rolled over, a welcoming smile for Brock curving her lips – and sighed as she saw Jemma sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, reading a book.

"Oh. It's you."

"It's nice to see you again too," Jemma's smile was wry.

Skye wrinkled her nose and then chuckled. "I'm sorry. I just, I hoped…"

"You really are in love with him, aren't you?" Jemma said gently.

Skye sat up, hugged her knees. Nodded, her eyes full of wonder. "He's – he's amazing. I've never known anyone like him. Brock _gets_ me, Jemma, he really does; he doesn't try to make decisions for me, try to force me to be anything I'm not. I've never in my life been just accepted for who I already am before – even when I joined SHIELD, there was always pressure to be _more_, to learn more, to become a field agent as well as a hacker…"

Jemma nodded silently, not judging. She could understand how someone like that would seriously appeal to Skye. "He's not exactly hard on the eyes, either," she quipped when Skye fell silent, a dreamy look on her face.

Skye began to giggle. "Oh, you are so right there!"

Jemma grinned, reached out for a hug, and was relieved when Skye returned it without hesitation. "You're really all right?" she asked gently. "We were all so worried about you, Skye. I thought Coulson was actually going to have a heart attack when we realised you'd just vanished without a trace."

"What happened?" Skye asked with interest, realising she still had no idea what had actually happened that day, or what the SHIELD crew had been doing during her absence.

"Well," Jemma settled comfortably onto the bed beside her. "When we stormed the HYDRA facility, everything seemed to go really smoothly at first. The place seemed to be deserted but it was a total rabbit warren, corridors everywhere, so we all split up, just checking in on the comms regularly. We didn't think too much of it when you missed the first check in, Coulson just sent Hunter, who was closest, to look for you. But when he got to your last location the only thing he found was your com and your phone on the floor. It was like you'd vanished into thin air."

"Rumlow shot me with a tranq dart and took me away," Skye murmured.

"We had no idea what could possibly have happened to you. Spent hours searching the place before we finally concluded that you just weren't there."

Skye winced at the shadows of remembered worry in Jemma's eyes. Hugged her friend again. "I was safe. Brock was paid to kidnap me and hide me, keep me safe. He was never going to hurt me."

"I'm very glad to hear it." Jemma hugged her back before taking up the thread of the story. "Phil was – well, he was panicking. May took over in that way she does when everything's utterly gone to shit and went behind Phil's back and called Maria Hill. Who turned up with the Avengers in tow less than an hour later. There was an extremely ugly scene with Phil, and pretty much all the Avengers, until May and Hill shouted them down and said that could all wait because finding you was more important."

Skye shook her head in amazement. May had stuck her neck out a long way there for Skye, going against Coulson's express orders that they were never to let the Avengers know he was alive. And for Skye's sake. "And the Avengers listened?"

"Errr. They did once Phil broke down and cried and told Tony Stark you were like the daughter he'd never had," Jemma said, a bit embarrassed on Coulson's behalf but feeling that Skye deserved to know. "At which point they sort of came round and decided to be on our side. Which was good, because they're all rather scary." It was even scarier how Skye had managed to bring down Iron Man, knock Captain America flat on his back _twice_ and intimidate the Black Widow, but Jemma didn't mention that.

"So what happened next? Brock got a message that Ward and Cal had been delayed because someone shot Ward…"

Jemma hung her head, blushing. "That was me."

Skye's mouth fell open. Of _all_ the people she'd have expected to have shot Ward, Jemma had to be right down at the bottom of the list. Maybe one place above Fitz.

"Tony Stark did some hacking wizardry and traced back the original tipoff about the abandoned HYDRA facility. Coulson sent a reconnaissance team – which was the Captain, Hawkeye, Bobbi and me – I insisted on going in case you'd been hurt – to check out the last known location of the phone where the tip had come from. We were all surprised to find Cal and Ward still there, with Agent 33 and about a dozen other people who I guess they'd hired. There was a bit of a fight."

Skye's eyebrows raised. She suspected Jemma was rather understating that last.

"The Captain knocked Agent 33 unconscious. She's in custody. Bruce Banner has her at Avengers Tower and is working on deprogramming her. Apparently it's possible, and the signs are good, so that's really good news. He and I have been corresponding and we think we might have a way to get that damaged face veil off her too."

Skye nodded, impressed. It _was_ good news. And it explained why Banner wasn't with the other Avengers.

"The others seemed to be mercenaries – we took several prisoner, Hunter recognised one and Stark managed to ID all the others. In the confusion, Ward and Cal managed to get away clean. Or they would have. Except that I was in the van outside where I'd been told to stay and I saw them making a run for it. I wound the window down and took a shot." Jemma blushed. "I need to do more firearms training, though. I only winged Ward in the arm."

"You are fucking awesomely badass to have shot him at all," Skye said sincerely, doling out another hug.

"Well I did promise I'd kill him if I ever saw him again, and I like to keep my promises," Jemma said primly before giggling. "It was very badass though, wasn't it? Trip would've been proud of me."

They both sobered at the memory of their dead friend. Hugged again for a silent moment.

"But… the trail went cold. And there was no sign that you'd even been near the place, the mercenaries didn't know anything and neither did Agent 33. We were starting to give up hope, Skye, when we got your message this morning. And when you mentioned Rumlow – the Avengers really didn't react well. I think the Captain and the Falcon and Agent Romanoff have had some rather bad experiences with him."

Skye grimaced. "He's not HYDRA any more," she insisted. "You've been undercover with them, Jemma, you know what it's like. Everything seems so terribly _reasonable_ with HYDRA until you start digging right down deep. Brock was in way over his head before he understood what they truly were, and then after the Triskelion – Whitehall _experimented on him_, Jemma."

Jemma shuddered in horror, the memory of the Nazi scientist far too fresh in her mind. "My God, no wonder he left them!"

"Only he couldn't exactly come back to SHIELD because of what he'd done. He didn't have too many options but to become a mercenary. Ward and Cal managed to convince him to take the job of kidnapping me – which I think he only accepted because no one was actually going to get hurt, as far as he knew – and then…" Skye's eyes went dreamy again.

"And then you convinced him to see the light?" Jemma said gently.

"I think he'd already seen it. He just didn't have a way back until I offered him one." Skye bit her lip then, remembering there was something she needed to ask Jemma. "Jemma – I know you're not an MD, but you're the team's medical professional, right? Can I talk to you in confidence?"

"Of course you can," Jemma said firmly. "Whatever you tell me stays between us, I promise."

"Good. I – we – had sex, and the condom broke." Skye decided to leave it at that. It was a simple enough explanation. "I didn't have my pack of pills on me when Brock grabbed me. I – guess I need the morning after pill?"

Jemma hesitated. "How long ago was this condom failure? Because if it's more than forty-eight hours, the morning-after pill won't be effective…"

"It was last night. And, um, I probably need some future form of birth control too. In case of more condom breaks. You know." Skye knew she was bright red, but Jemma seemed completely unconcerned. Just another biological function, Skye supposed with an inner chuckle. "Maybe an IED?"

Jemma fell about laughing.

"What did I say?"

"You mean an I_U_D, an intra-uterine device. An IED is an _improvised_ _explosive_ device," Jemma explained between giggles.

"Oh, whoops," Skye found herself giggling too. It was cathartic for both of them, a release of tension. They leaned against each other and howled with laughter.

"I can put in an IUD for you," Jemma said eventually, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Give you a Depo shot as well, if you prefer. Two reliable methods of birth control instead of one, they won't counteract each other and then even if you run late for a Depo shot for some reason or if you should happen to lose your IUD – which does happen – you'd still be protected."

"That's probably a very good idea," Skye agreed, thinking of the possible function of those barbs. And how much she wanted to have sex with Brock again. Soon. "Can we go do it now? And get that pill?"

"Come on then. Let's go to the labs. I can take care of all of it for you there," Jemma said, and the two girls headed on downstairs, arm in arm.

**Do I really have to confess where the IED/IUD joke came from? Let's just say it was quite a few years ago, long before I discovered that birth control's pointless for me anyway as I have blocked fallopian tubes and needed IVF to conceive!**

**Several people asked about Stockholm Syndrome after I mentioned it a couple of times in the last chapter. Really people, I thought you'd have learned to Google by now, LOL!**

**Stockholm Syndrome was a phrase coined over 40 years ago to describe a psychological condition first identified in hostages released following a 6-day bank siege in Stockholm, Sweden. The Wikipedia definition is:**

"**Stockholm syndrome**, or capture-bonding, is a psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and sympathy and have positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes to the point of defending and identifying with the captors."

**It's far more likely to occur when the captor(s) treat their hostages well. It is **_**not**_** a type of brainwashing, because it's not the **_**intent**_** of the captors in these cases to make their hostages do anything but just go along quietly with their plans.**

**Thanks to Troodon for telling me that the reverse of Stockholm Syndrome is Lima Syndrome – when captors become sympathetic to their hostages.**

**The point I'm trying to get across here is that yes, Skye and Brock may have originally **_**started off**_** with a case of Stockholm/Lima Syndrome. It's become a lot more than that as they've really come to understand each other.**


	21. Learning To Trust

**Chapter Twenty-One – Learning To Trust**

Skye was surprised to discover that the Bus was parked back in its hangar at the Playground and she and Jemma were the only people on it. Jemma explained that May had flown back while Skye slept and Jemma had volunteered to stay with her so she didn't wake alone and feeling abandoned.

"Where's Brock?" Skye asked.

Jemma hesitated, looking slightly pained.

"Oh no, not Vault D!"

"He _asked_ to be locked up, Skye. Said it was better for everyone's peace of mind, that he couldn't possibly expect anyone's trust."

"But down there!" Skye shuddered. She had too many awful memories down in the vault, of Ward evading her questions and telling her he knew what was best for her. "I need to go to him, Jemma…"

"Let's go do the thing in the labs first," Jemma insisted quietly, "because I can see from the look on your face that there's probably going to be tearing of clothes involved when you get your hands on him again."

That made Skye smile a little, though she still looked anxious, and Jemma hastened to reassure her further. "He's fine, Skye, I promise. He and the Captain have come to some sort of agreement between them and everything's settled down."

"Hm," Skye said darkly, remembering the look on Steve Rogers' face as he'd thrown Brock's limp body to the runway. "He seems kind of an ass."

"Oh no, he's amazing," Jemma had a suspiciously starry-eyed look on her face as she collected the things she'd need.

"So amazing you're still calling him _the Captain_ instead of by his name?"

"I'm just being respectful," Jemma tried to excuse herself. "He asked me to call him Steve," she was _blushing_, Skye realised. "He _mumble mumble mumble_."

"He what?" Skye was rather enjoying this. She hadn't seen Jemma react like this over a guy in, well, _ever_.

"He said he liked my accent because it reminded him of _Peggy Carter_," Jemma practically gasped it out.

"You've totally got a crush on him," Skye discovered delightedly.

"Like every other girl on the planet!" Jemma regained her equilibrium and pressed a pill and a glass of water on Skye. "Here. Take that while I get the shot and the IUD ready."

It was quite late at night. Jemma convinced Skye that she should eat before she went to see Rumlow – _yes, Skye of course we fed him, don't be ridiculous_ – and almost dragged her to the kitchen to make her a sandwich. Skye choked it down somehow and then headed for the Vault.

Jemma watched her go, shrugged and turned to head for her own room – she wasn't Skye's keeper – when she crashed straight into Steve Rogers' broad chest.

"Jemma!" he caught her hands, steadying her as she bounced off and nearly fell. "I beg your pardon, I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No, that was me, Captain, I'm so sorry," she stuttered out.

"I'm sure I asked you to call me Steve," he smiled down at her.

Jemma hated herself for only being able to make a garbled noise in response. She had to take a deep breath and try to calm down. Which was difficult, because he was still holding on to her hands, his large strong fingers very warm on hers.

"Were you coming to get something to eat?" she asked, realising he was headed into the kitchen. "Can I make you a sandwich?"

"Yes, I was – oh no, I wouldn't want to be any trouble…"

"No trouble. I understand you need to intake a lot of calories to fuel your metabolism?" She was on safer ground, talking to him about science, at least.

*o*o*o*o*

Skye found Hunter propping up the wall outside the Vault. She looked at him curiously, and he scanned her up and down once and grinned before opening his arms for a hug. A little surprised, she obliged, squeaking when he gave her a tight squeeze.

"Look at you, all grown up," Hunter said gently. "You did well today, Skye."

"I had cause to be grateful to that wilderness training you gave me, you know," she told him with a smile when he let go. "I only wish I'd listened better."

"See, you should always listen to what I say. Big brother Lance knows best."

Skye snorted at that and reached for the vault door.

"Skye?" Hunter said quietly just before the door opened.

"Hm?" she glanced back at him.

"You know I still have contacts in mercenary circles?"

"Yes…" she supposed that would be obvious.

"Once Rumlow's name came up, I asked a few questions. The word is that he's the man for the impossible jobs. He's very expensive and _very_ dangerous."

"I knew all that already," she told him.

"Okay. Just, be careful, okay, luv? He's not a man _I'd_ want to cross."

Skye nodded, and Hunter leaned back against the wall, folding his arms again, his piece said.

She realised why he was waiting there when she found Bobbi and Coulson interrogating Brock. _Still_. His voice was a low, weary rasp.

"For God's sake, have you been questioning him all this time?" Skye demanded. "Have you even _started_ looking for Ward?"

"Skye!" To her surprise, it was Rumlow who spoke. "Show a little respect, and don't jump to conclusions!"

Amazed, she stared at him, and he shook his head at her. "Stark's taken my tablet and gone to work on tracing the money. If anyone can find Ward and Zabo, Stark can. I'm here of my own free will volunteering any and all information about HYDRA I think may be useful."

"Some of it's out of date, since we hit their leadership a few months ago," Coulson said, "but there's so much more…"

Skye hesitated. "Sorry, Coulson," she said quietly after a moment. "It's just, this place makes me…" she gestured around the vault, and Coulson's face softened.

"I understand." He hesitated, looked at Rumlow, then at her. "If you want to take him back to your room to rest, Skye, I won't object."

Brock looked surprised. "Coulson, I'm happy for you to lock me in here…"

"I'm actually thinking about Skye's well-being more than yours, Rumlow," Phil said crisply. "If she wants you with her – and I can see that she does – this is not the place for it. We'll be securing her door from the outside and there will be someone on guard in the corridor all night."

"That's a great deal of trust you're placing in me, Coulson," Brock said rather humbly.

"Don't make me regret it." Phil stood, and then a little to Skye's surprise, initiated a hug. "I'm so glad to have you back safe," he muttered thickly in her ear, and she hugged him back with a smile.

Bobbi had been silent since Skye entered the room; she too stood, and as Coulson let go, touched Skye's shoulder gently, leaning down to kiss her cheek and whisper very softly in her ear, "For what it's worth, I think you caught a good one, rock star."

Skye smiled back at her. She respected Bobbi, looked up to her, and thought the other woman was an amazing judge of character. If _she_ liked Rumlow – well, it was nice to know that someone else thought Skye was right about him too.

Coulson and Bobbi left the vault, leaving the door propped open. Skye walked towards Brock as he stood up from his chair. At least they hadn't been interrogating him through the barrier; all three chairs and the table were on the non-secure side of the vault.

Aware that there were still security cameras trained on them, Skye contended herself with wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head on his chest. She sighed contentedly as strong arms curled around her and she felt him press a kiss to her hair.

"Are you okay, angel?" Brock murmured softly, relishing the feel of Skye's slim body curved against him, her soft hair against his cheek.

"Better now I'm with you. Yes, I'm fine," as she felt him tense slightly. "I had a sleep, and I've eaten – and I talked with Jemma. How are _you_? Have they been giving you a rough time?"

"A lot less than I deserve," he said a bit bleakly.

"Don't do that to yourself, Brock," Skye said gently. "We've already talked about this. You can't change the past, only the future."

He sighed and held her tighter for a moment. "I know. It's hard. I'm gonna have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life."

"We've all got regrets," Skye whispered.

"Yeah. What bothers _you_ so much about this place?"

It was her turn to tense, and he growled a little under his breath. "Ward?"

"I can't help comparing the way _he_ behaved to the way _you_ are. We took him prisoner, held him down here. He claimed he'd seen the light, that he wasn't HYDRA any more, that he was willing to help. Only – he wouldn't talk to anyone but me. And he wouldn't answer any questions, not directly; everything was cryptic and he kept telling me he wanted to help me, wanted to save me, wanted to take me to my real father who I know now is a murdering psychopath…"

She was shaking in his arms. Brock stroked her hair, making soft, soothing sounds. "It's all right. Skye, my love, please. It's all right. I've got you. I'm never going to let them near you again. Either of them." Over her shoulder, he eyed the table, where a glass of water was beginning to tremor. After a moment though, it settled down.

He'd never seen her come close to losing control of her power yet, apart from that one time in bed. This place must really upset her.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured softly, and led her up the stairs. At the top they found Hawkeye, waiting with gun in hand, his eyes hard. He gestured for Brock to go ahead of him, and Skye led him to her room.

The doors were solid, heavy metal things that could be locked from either side. The clang as it closed and Hawkeye locked it sounded like a prison cell to Skye, and she shuddered again.

"Doesn't it bother you?" she burst out. "Doesn't Blake want to run?"

He shushed her with a gentle finger on her lips. Went into the bathroom and came back with a piece of toilet paper, and to her surprise picked up a pen off her desk and wrote on it.

_They probably bugged your room. I would have._

While she was standing in open-mouthed horror, he went back into the bathroom and closed the door. A minute later she heard the toilet flush.

Brock came back to find Skye standing looking utterly dejected in the middle of her room. "Don't take it personally, angel," he took her in his arms, pressed light kisses across her face. "Anything else would be irresponsible, let's face it."

"I suppose," she mumbled. And then her eyes lit up with a sudden, fiery defiance. "Well, then."

"Well then what?" he queried, a bit unnerved by that look.

"Let's _really_ give them something to listen to." Her hands went to his waist, pulling his T-shirt loose from his pants, unfastening his belt.

Brock couldn't help but chuckle. "If you don't care, I sure don't." he pulled his shirt off over his head, grinning at the pleased little sound she let out as she ran her hands up his thickly muscled chest. "None of them are going to be able to look us in the eye in the morning, considering the noises I'm planning to make you let out."

"Sounds good," Skye purred, winding her arms around his neck and pulling his head down, "though I hope you're going to give me a chance to make you let out some noises as well."

He smiled as their lips met.

**And yes, next chapter will be Return of the Smut – and after that we're going to find out what the Avengers think about all this.**


	22. We'll Work It Out

**Chapter Twenty-Two - We'll Work It Out**

The kiss turned heated quickly, and Brock drew Skye over to her bed, grateful that it was a double at least. Sitting down on the edge, he tugged her to stand between his knees, edging the hem of her shirt up. Pressing soft kisses to her stomach. She sighed softly, ran her fingers into his thick black hair. His hot tongue swirled wetly in her navel, its rough texture making her shiver even as his hands pulled her shirt higher.

Impatient, Skye grabbed the hem of her shirt and jerked it up and over her head, tossing it aside. She'd showered and changed after her medical exam earlier, regretfully dropping her black satin underthings in her washing bag, but then remembered another pretty set she'd bought not long ago.

"_Damn_, angel," Brock breathed, staring at the scarlet lace barely covering Skye's breasts. "Are you _tryin'_ to give this old man a heart attack?"

She laughed softly, turning sideways and seating herself lightly on his knee. "Stop calling yourself old. Haven't you heard the saying that you're only as old as the woman you feel?"

"You sure make me feel like a young stud again." One big hand curved over her breast, thumb flicking at her already-hard nipple. "Do your panties match?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Skye said pertly, only to let out a squeal as he immediately accepted the challenge, tipping her off his knee back onto the bed and deftly unfastening her jeans. "Mm, I like," he had her jeans halfway down her thighs and was admiring the matching scarlet lace thong before Skye could even try to wiggle away. She giggled helplessly as he found the ticklish spot on the back of her thigh again.

"Brock, don't!"

He chuckled, sitting back and taking her foot in his lap to unlace her boot. "Careful, sweetheart, if you say _no_ or _don't_ too emphatically Hawkeye will be bursting in through that door ready to blow my head off."

"I'll blow _his_ bloody head off if he interrupts," Skye sighed as Brock pulled her other boot off and began massaging her feet. "Urrgghh – that feels really good. Mm. You know, there is one head I'd like to blow, though."

His golden eyes widened and he laughed. "You've got a filthy mouth on you."

"Yeah, doncha just wanna fuck it?" She pulled her feet out of his lap and twisted around, kneeling on the bed beside him. "Because I want you to."

He hesitated. "Might not be wise," he murmured, and she knew he was thinking about the barbs.

"That's only at the finish, right?" She pleaded with her eyes. Slipped off the bed and went to her knees at his feet, saw from his expression the moment when he caved.

"I cannot say no to you," Brock grumped as Skye began to unlace his boots. He lifted his feet to let her take them off, stood to push down his pants and jockey shorts and step out of them.

"You don't want to say no to me." Skye licked her lips as he sat back down, eyeing him appreciatively. She'd not yet had a good close look at his cock, and a very handsome one it was too, standing long and proud from a nest of coarse black curls. She wrapped one hand lightly around the base – her finger and thumb didn't meet, he was certainly quite thick – and flexed her wrist in a gentle pump, watching his reaction.

"Uhhh," Brock leaned back, putting his hands on the bed to take his weight. Skye was investigating what he liked, changing the position of her hand, the tightness of her grip, and bringing her other hand up to play lightly with his balls. "Mm, that's good, angel." His voice was a low, guttural rasp. He couldn't help but watch her, her lovely dark eyes turned up to his, her soft hair sweeping his thighs as she leaned forward and her little pink tongue flicked out. He had to will himself not to jerk his hips up as she licked gently all around his tip and then, slowly, sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.

"Don't take me in deep," he warned roughly, and she nodded, the movement of her mouth on him making him gasp and clench his fingers in the bedclothes.

He didn't _look_ any different, but her sensitive tongue had picked up slight bumps on the glans, which Skye guessed were the (retracted) barbs. She didn't intend to deep-throat him, just in case, but he didn't seem to care, letting out low gasps and groans as she caressed him with her tongue and light, clever fingers.

For Brock, it was a slowly building spiral of pleasure, just the way he liked it. Skye's hot mouth on his sensitive flesh drove him steadily insane until finally he reached up and put his hand under her chin, lifting her mouth off him. "Enough, angel," he muttered huskily. "Come here. I want to return the favour."

She laughed softly, standing up. "Don't need it." She tugged on his hand, pulling it between her legs so he could feel how soaked her panties were. "Just need you." Hooking her thumbs in the sides, she shimmied the panties down over her hips until she could drop them to the floor and step out, unclipped the bra and tossed it aside, smiling at the look on his face. "Just like this." She straddled his lap, putting her knees beside his hips on the bed, her hands dropping down between them to stroke his cock again. "Fuck me, please, Brock, I _need_ you."

He couldn't, and didn't want, to deny her. She was dripping with lust anyway, thoroughly aroused though he'd barely touched her, so slowly, he put his hands on her hips and guided her gently down on him, watching with awe as her head tipped back, exposing the long, lovely lines of her throat, listening to the soft moans she gave as his thick arousal stretched delicate tissues, stimulated sensitive nerve-endings.

They both groaned as she took him fully inside and settled her bottom on his lap. Brock sought Skye's mouth in a hungry, frantic kiss, one hand coming up to play with her breasts while the other cupped her bottom, beginning to rock her against him in a small motion that had him moving just a little bit inside her.

"Fucking hell, Skye, that feels so good," he muttered, nipping at her bottom lip, kissing his way down her throat as her head fell back again and she moaned throatily. "You're so _wet_."

"For you," she gasped as he changed angle slightly, tilting his hips. "Oh, God, Brock, _unh_." She flexed her knees, increasing the depth of his shallow thrusts, felt his low, rumbling groan through her whole body.

"Here," he said suddenly, and tipped her back, both hands behind her back to support her. "Bring yourself off, Skye. Put your fingers on your clit and come on me, I want to see you."

With her body tipped back and her legs straddling his thighs, she was spread wide open, her clit fully exposed even though his cock was buried to the hilt inside her. There was plenty of room for Skye to slip her hand in, scissor her fingers over her swollen clit.

Brock watched, keeping up a slow rhythm of thrusts inside her as Skye fingered herself. He couldn't decide whether he was enjoying watching the movement of her hand or the expressions on her face more, alternated glancing between them. She was so stunning; he felt like the luckiest man alive, worshipful and utterly amazed that she would let him make love to her.

Skye's eyes were closed, but she opened them then, fixing them on his face, drawn tight with hunger for her, his lips slightly parted and moist as he watched her approach orgasm. His golden eyes gleamed with a primal satisfaction, his breath coming in low pants.

"Come for me," Brock pleaded. He was too close himself, after she'd thoroughly wound him up with her hot mouth and clever hands. "Oh god, angel, yeah, there you go, that's it, so perfect," he babbled as she began to clench on him, her mouth opening in a soundless scream, her dark eyes still focussed on his. His back bowed, bending him over her as his own climax hit, the prickling of his barbs making them both cry out with increased pleasure.

Skye let out tiny wails, writhing against Brock's tight hold as his barbs stroked at her. "Nnnn, Brock, _so_ good!" she sobbed out, and he pulled her up against him and held her close as they both shuddered through the long minutes of pleasure.

Light-headed with ecstasy, Skye found herself giggling against Brock's shoulder. "They should make vibrators with those."

He laughed too. "Bit kinky, hmm? Considering the bestiality aspect that would be associated with them. That said, no doubt someone already thought of it. They do say that if you can imagine it, someone made porn about it."

Skye smiled against his skin. "I'm not sure anyone could imagine _you_. Or how incredibly good that feels."

"I'm just glad it doesn't hurt you." He hesitated, realised he should have asked the question before they had sex. "Did you talk to your friend about birth control?"

They'd discussed it during the plane flight, Skye saying she was sure Jemma could help her out discreetly.

"Yes. It's all taken care of." Skye was reluctant to get off him, even though he'd softened inside her now. So she stayed where she was, nestling her face into the strong curve of his neck, and he was obviously enjoying just holding her, stroking her hair and breathing in a low, rumbly pattern she was coming to recognise as his human body's version of a purr.

"Blake's really all right?" Skye whispered very quietly in his ear, barely a breath of sound. She was fairly sure whoever had been listening would have stopped long ago, though.

Brock nodded. "Got a few days before I start to get itchy in my skin, I'd think. Don't you worry about me, angel. I'm fine."

"Good." Her knees were starting to ache, so she reluctantly climbed off him and went to the bathroom. He'd tidied up when she came back, she found, folding all their clothes neatly on her dresser. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Neat freak."

Brock grinned, opening his eyes to Skye as she crawled into bed beside him and tucked herself in as the little spoon. "Slob."

"I'm not that bad!"

"You've been away for a week. I'm willing to bet your friends tidied your room."

She only huffed in response. Reached out to switch out the lamp on the bedside table and then snuggled back into his arms. "They might have done," she allowed eventually.

Brock chuckled softly, kissed her shoulder. "I knew it. Never mind, angel, we'll work it out."

"Mmhm." Despite her earlier nap, her eyes were already closing. Brock kissed her shoulder again, feeling her body going limp in his hold.

"Sleep tight, my love," he whispered softly.

**Awww. Well, that was a lovely little interlude before everything absolutely goes to shit. There's going to be far too much adventure action in the next few chapters for any sexytimes, I'm afraid. But hang in there, it'll be back eventually!**


	23. Headfuckery

**Chapter Twenty-Three – Headfuckery **

May reached out and switched off the speakers.

"Oh, that sounded like it was going to get interesting," Sam Wilson grinned at her, and Natasha, seated next to him, gave him a solid elbow to the ribs.

"Thank you, but I'd really rather _not_ listen to my protégée having sex," May told him dryly. "Especially not with a man who I've known almost as long as she's been alive."

Natasha hesitated when May spoke, and then said carefully; "Melinda – does Rumlow seem _different_ to you? I haven't known him all that long, only about five years, but – he seems like such a different man to the one I knew. I mean, he's still got that sardonic humour and there's still the feeling that he'd be utterly ruthless to anyone who got in his way, but – I can't quite put my finger on what's changed."

May frowned. "Honestly, Nat, I've barely seen him for the last few years. Since I left the field, after Bahrain. But he seems a lot like the Rumlow I used to know, way back when. We were good friends once and I'll be honest, I was utterly shocked when I heard he was HYDRA. Just couldn't believe it." She paused. "I knew he was dissatisfied with SHIELD after Bahrain, that said. He had a rant at me, said it should never have happened, that the terrorists should have been taken care of long before, that the _I _in SHIELD stood for _Intervention_ and there'd been enough intel to prevent it from happening, if anyone had been bothered."

"Did he undergo psych counselling then?" Sam asked suddenly.

"We all did," May replied, a little surprised. "It was mandatory for STRIKE anyway, and he was the team leader."

"Huh," Sam sat back, shared a glance with Natasha. "That could be how they got to him."

May gave him her _Start Talking Now_ eyebrow. He immediately did.

"After Nat dumped all of SHIELD's files – and then your hacker dropped a lot of HYDRA ones – I started going through with Maria Hill, looking at how to identify who'd been SHIELD and who was HYDRA. A lot of people had no idea who they were working for; their team leader was HYDRA and they just followed orders without realising. HYDRA especially liked to recruit team leaders for that very reason, so it certainly makes sense that they'd have wanted Rumlow. Quite apart from the fact that he's one of the most brutal hand-to-hand fighters I've ever had the misfortune to come up against." Sam shuddered, remembering the beating he'd been getting at Rumlow's hands before the Helicarrier crashed into the Triskelion.

May nodded. "That makes sense, yes. A lot of the people we've identified were team leaders or department heads."

"And from what we've been able to find, many of them didn't start out HYDRA. And rather like you said about Rumlow, people who knew them well were genuinely shocked to find out they'd turned. So we started looking at patterns they had in common. And one of the things we found was that a lot of them, at some point, visited certain shrinks in SHIELD's psych department."

"Ohhh," Melinda let out a sigh, sat back herself. "_Damn_. We wondered about that. This was a base of Peggy Carter's, you know." She waved a hand round. "We found a lot of her files. There was one about a Doctor Fennhoff, aka Ivchenko, who was apparently a psychologist and master hypnotist. He was, for a while, cellmates with one Arnim Zola."

Natasha sucked in her breath. "Zola eventually permeated SHIELD with his ideas. His vision for the future."

"And perhaps, so did Fennhoff." May studied her fingers. "Was one of these psychiatrists you identified, a Doctor Geoffrey Tunstall?"

"Yes," Sam nodded.

"Huh. I'm not surprised. I asked for a transfer after two sessions. My head wasn't on straight at the time, but I knew I didn't like him."

"You always were a good judge of character," Natasha gave her a grin, and May smiled back.

"It does explain how they got to Rumlow, though," she said, sobering. "They must have played on his dissatisfaction, his combat fatigue. He'd have been a tough nut to crack, but they had _years_ to work on him, and lots of leverage – he lost a fair few friends over the years in STRIKE, and when he became commander it must have been doubly difficult."

All three of them sat in silence for a moment, and then Sam said; "Well, I can check his files. The psych records were in a special, separate database with all the other medical records."

May cocked her head.

"Tony and I hacked it," Natasha said coolly. "To help Maria with recruitment."

"Of course." May nodded. "Well, go ahead, if you would, Sam. I think I'd very much like to know what Rumlow's psych evaluations say."

Sam had the documents called up in a few minutes, and the three of them settled down to read. Sam soon found that Rumlow had started seeing one of the suspect shrinks almost ten years earlier, going for his mandatory monthly counselling sessions.

"Interesting," Natasha called up the report from the psychiatrist who'd last seen Rumlow before the suspect doctor. "These are two very different assessments. Looks like they're of different individuals, really! This one says he has combat fatigue and mental exhaustion, some symptoms of PTSD; recommends him for leave as soon as possible. And then a month later he's assessed as perfectly healthy, well-adjusted, ready for missions." She flipped screens. "He didn't have any leave in that time. Had several missions, in fact."

"They got to him, and then falsified the reports," Sam said grimly. "Bastards."

"Hynotism, do you think?" May asked.

"Probably not in any major way. Rumlow's really not the sort of personality who'd be susceptible, he's too stubborn," Natasha shook her head. "No – I'd call it attitude adjustment. Like a slow drip-feed of poison in his ear, telling him that he's perfectly right to feel angry about the way SHIELD treats its people, that there _are_ people who understand and feel the same way, that he could only change SHIELD from the inside out…"

May looked vaguely sick. So did Sam.

"Damn, how many good men and women did they ruin that way?" Sam wondered.

"Even one is one too many," Natasha said grimly. "Especially when it's someone as dangerous and capable as Rumlow."

"You're not wrong there," Sam shuddered.

"So now what?" May asked. "Because he seems now, just as he ever did. He's been away from HYDRA for months, away from their shrinks messing with his head. Do we accept his word for it that he's realised that he was wrong, accept him back into the fold?"

"I'm inclined to say yes," Natasha said slowly, "but then for obvious reasons, I'm also a fan of giving people second chances, even when they might not deserve them."

They all smiled, and then Sam said, "I'm inclined to say he should see a _proper_ psychologist. Though I daresay he'd be very resistant to the idea."

"Maybe Skye could get him to see one," May mused. "If we could find someone we could trust with a high enough security clearance, anyway," she added dryly.

"At least he's talking about it, though," Natasha gestured to the big screen on the wall, where earlier they'd been watching Rumlow's interrogation. "Very openly, too. I'm not sure I could sit there and do that even now, tell all the Red Room's secrets as he's spilling HYDRA's. And he has no idea of what we can verify and what we can't, so we know he's not feeding us false information, because we know a lot more about HYDRA now than we did a few months ago. We can't find anything to contradict anything he's told us so far."

"It's not my decision," May said eventually, after they'd all sat in silence for a while, "but for what it's worth, I think I'll recommend to Coulson that we provisionally take him on as a consultant."

"You'd better make that _contractor_," Natasha said dryly, "because there's no way you'll keep him from getting his hands dirty. Especially not if you can lay your hands on Grant Ward."

"_When_, not _if_," May said coolly, "we get our hands on Ward again, I will bring the popcorn for anyone who wants to watch Rumlow tear him into tiny little pieces."

"I'll buy tickets," Natasha stood, grinning, and stretched. "Well, I'm going to get Clint and turn in. It's your watch, Sam," she glanced at the clock.

"We don't really think Rumlow's going to be coming out of there, do we?"

"No," May acknowledged, "but this is Coulson's base, Sam. We follow orders and there will be a watch in the corridor tonight because he says so. Hunter will relieve you at two a.m."

He gave her a respectful nod and followed Natasha out. May sighed, turned her tablet in her hands a few times.

_I might as well go and find Coulson and talk to him about this. He'll want to know before he starts interrogation tomorrow again anyway – and I know he won't be sleeping._

**Just want to say thanks very much to pretzel-log1c for giving me the idea that led to this chapter! It's **_**such**_** a plausible explanation for how perfectly normal, hard-working folks ended up HYDRA…**


	24. New Plans

**Chapter Twenty-Four – New Plans**

Skye had expected at least a knock on her door before someone came in. But no, it swung open suddenly at five in the morning and Bobbi stuck her head round. "Get the fuck up. Trouble," she said succinctly, and shut it again.

Brock was already sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his clothes. "That can only mean one thing," he said grimly.

"Ward." They shared a look full of grim purpose as they both began to dress.

They found everyone in the base's command centre. Stark was holding the floor – _no surprise there_, Skye thought wryly, but he didn't seem to be talking about anything important. Everyone looked around as she and Rumlow came in – oh, they were looking at the fact that Brock was holding her hand. Skye held on tighter and glared defiantly. Brock's lips twitched with amusement.

They ended up standing together next to Steve. Who glanced at their joined hands and actually gave Rumlow a faint smile. Until his nose twitched and he went suddenly very red.

Brock smirked. Skye, looking between the two men, didn't get it until Brock looked down at her and touched his nose, before glancing at Steve.

_Oh my God we didn't have time to shower. We reek of sex and we're standing next to a super-soldier with an extremely sensitive sense of smell._

Well – she wasn't going to be embarrassed about it. Skye lifted her chin proudly, tightened her hand on Brock's.

"That's my girl," he murmured into her ear, brushing a light kiss against the tip of it. Making her shiver and lean into him.

"If you two lovebirds are quite finished billing and cooing at each other," Stark said sarcastically, "you might like to know, Agent Skye, that your other would-be suitor has made contact. He's specified a time and place for your safe delivery." He held up Brock's tablet.

Skye felt more than heard the faint snarl ripple through Brock. She squeezed his fingers. "Call him my stalker, Stark. That's what he is."

"Hmm." He tipped his head at her. "You're very interesting, Agent Skye. I don't say that to many people. Some of your hacking techniques are fascinating."

"You let him loose on my computers, didn't you?" Skye nearly moaned. Heard Brock chuckle softly. "You do realise that we're utterly compromised now and I'll have to start again from scratch?"

"Perhaps not," Coulson exchanged a look with Stark. "We're – _discussing_ a possible joint venture."

Well – that was an unexpected development. Skye blinked, staring at Coulson for a moment.

"What did Ward say?" Brock's low voice broke her concentration, and she found herself tensing again. Until he let go of her hand and put both arms around her waist instead, drawing her to lean back against him. She breathed in his warm, musky scent, felt the flex of his muscles as he held her, and felt instantly safer. Calmer.

Tony threw the message up on the screen. It had been posted anonymously to an online forum, Skye saw, and appeared innocuous enough. Obviously Brock had told Tony where to look.

"What does that mean?" Skye frowned.

"It's co-ordinates," Brock said. "And a time." He checked the clock on the screen. "Fifty-four hours from now, give or take a few minutes. A bit more than two days." He read off some co-ordinates to Tony, who promptly threw up a map on the screen.

"That's the middle of nowhere," Steve said, "where even is that?"

Tony had to zoom out quite far to figure that out. "Wyoming."

"Ah, _shit_," most of the SHIELD agents said simultaneously. Coulson explained when he received a number of quizzical looks.

"Garrett once abandoned Ward – before he was an agent – in the Wyoming wilderness for what we believe was several months. Turned him into a survivalist. That's his terrain, his home ground."

"He's trying to pull my trick," Brock murmured to Skye, "of giving you no choice but to depend on him for survival."

"I would rather _die_," Skye said vehemently, felt his arms tighten around her again.

Tony was staring at the screen while the others talking. Zooming in and out on particular terrain features, and then he went across to another screen and started typing, pulling something up.

"Skye," he glanced up at her, "some help here, please?"

She pulled a little reluctantly away from Brock and went over. "What is it?"

"Something's bothering me about these features." He threw red circles around some regular shapes in the apparently trackless wilderness. "I want to get some satellite shots at different angles of incidence, see if we can get a better look."

She joined him in hacking satellites, and after a few moments Natasha and Clint came and took over another couple of terminals.

"There's _something_ there," Natasha murmured. "You know what this reminds me of, Clint?"

"That place up in Montana four years ago. You remember, Phil?" Clint looked up at Coulson, who nodded with a grim expression on his face.

"All too well. It was a compound," he told the others. "White supremacists, a doomsday cult, in effect. They had scientists on site who were making a major bioweapon. An utter nightmare. I ended up with seven dead agents and we nearly lost Seattle."

"Seattle?" Skye queried.

"We do not talk about Seattle," Clint and Natasha both said in unison.

"Oh-kay. No Seattle. Got it."

Tony was chuckling quietly beside Skye as his fingers danced over the touchscreen. "I'm thinking you're right, guys. There's nearly thirty square _miles_ of land here, all registered to a shell corporation out of Malta, of all places."

This time the chorus of "Oh, shit!" was much louder. Skye went a little pale and swayed, and Brock was beside her in an instant.

"What?" he snapped at Coulson. "What does that mean to you?"

"Ian Quinn…"

It was a low, rumbling snarl that started deep in Brock's chest and seemed to fill the room. Skye wheeled around, put her hands on his shoulders. "Brock! Brock, look at me, it's all right!"

His pupils had changed to vertical slits, she realised with horror, grabbed his face in her hands and made him look directly at her, frightened someone else would see. "_Look at me_."

"What the _actual_ fuck," Hunter whispered to Bobbi at the back of the room. Both of them had their hands on their weapons, along with pretty much everyone else in the room. There'd been nothing human about that _sound_ Rumlow had just let out.

"Sshh," Bobbi whispered back. "I think Skye's got it under control."

"_It_ is about right!" But Hunter slid the gun he'd begun to draw back into its holster, watching as Rumlow's tensed shoulders slowly slumped and he leaned his head forward until his brow touched Skye's. One big hand came up, pressed on Skye's stomach lightly.

"That's where Quinn shot her," Jemma whispered on Bobbi's other side. "Rumlow obviously knows."

They were all silent, watching. Natasha shared a meaningful look with Steve, another with Sam.

Finally Rumlow straightened, a small smile coming to his lips. "Just another name for the list," he said quietly.

Skye smiled up at him. "It's probably very wrong that I should love you all the more for wanting to murder anyone who's ever hurt me, but I do anyway."

He kissed her for that, uncaring that everyone was looking at them.

"Nothing wrong with that," Natasha said with some amusement, turning her head to look at Clint. "I'm quite sure I said something similar to you once."

He picked up her hand and kissed it absently before returning his attention to the screen in front of him, ignoring Rumlow and Skye doing their best to suck each other's faces off. "We're going to have to go in and scout the place. No way can we let them fly in blind. And we're not going to get much from aerial reconnaissance because the fucking place is covered in trees."

"Ground-penetrating radar," a quiet voice said. Clint and Tony both looked to see who spoke, and were surprised to see Fitz, who'd edged closer and was craning, at a safe distance, over Clint's shoulder. "Those buildings are too far apart to make it feasibly defensible, surely. I'm thinking there must be a network of tunnels underneath, that's where the real base is. If it's Cybertek it'll be pretty sophisticated…"

"Radar's no good, too low level. We need satellite data, NASA's SIR-A satellite," Tony said, suddenly firing up. "Hmm… let's see if I can re-task it in time – Tasha, can you look and see if there are any passes over that zone already?"

"On it." Natasha started typing frantically.

Even Tony's wizardry – combined with Skye's, once Brock had let her go – couldn't alter the satellite's path enough to give them data in time, though. It was just too far out of position. Instead, Tony and Fitz put their heads together and started designing something they could attach to the Bus that might give them some decent data, and May could then fly the Bus over pretending to be a commercial airliner.

Their best hope for information, however, was still to send people in on the ground to scout. Clint and Natasha immediately volunteered, as did Hunter. Bobbi winced.

"Look, I'm happy to go. But I'm an urban specialist, I'm really not the best one for the job..."

"I could go," Steve said cheerfully.

"You're about as stealthy as an elephant," Natasha said firmly. "No."

"I don't need a partner," Hunter objected.

"I'll go," Brock said.

"And I really don't think I want _that_ partner…"

Skye was silent, looking up at Brock. "Blake's the best one for the job," he said to her quietly.

Knowing it was the truth didn't make her any less fearful for him. "You'd have to tell the others," she said, "and we agreed that wasn't a good idea…"

"How could we keep it from them? I can see how tight you and your team are; I can already see them integrating with the Avengers. And some of them already know I'm not what I used to be." He nodded at Steve, who inclined his head. Looking around, Skye could see the knowledge in the eyes of those who'd known Rumlow before: Clint and Natasha, Phil, May. They were all nodding quietly.

"If you want me to stick around, Skye," he looked down into her eyes, "I can't keep this secret. They'd find me out. I'm guessing your friend Jemma already has some idea, if she's looked closely at the blood tests."

Skye met Jemma's eyes, startled. Jemma nodded a bit sheepishly. "Different DNA," she said, loudly enough that everyone could hear her. "Not all that different, just a few extra gene groups here and there, but…"

"Were you able to identify them?" Brock asked her.

"Not yet. I left the computer running genome matches to known species with fully mapped genomes…"

"They'll come back feline." Brock looked around the quiet room. "I'm not sure exactly what Whitehall did. As far as I can tell, I was in a coma for three months after the helicarrier and the Triskelion fell on me. I was different when I woke up, but I didn't know _how_ different until a while later, when I escaped HYDRA's custody." He took a deep breath. "I can shift shape."

"Another Hulk!" Tony said. "I _knew_ it, your eyes are too weird – are you green, or…"

"He's not a Hulk!" Skye cut him off sharply.

"I'm a tiger."

**Whoah Brock, big step to take! It did seem logical to me that he would make that call, though, once he saw how tight the SHIELD team are. He couldn't have hoped to stay with Skye and keep the secret for long, not considering how suspicious of him they were. I figured he'd recognise that he'd earn their trust quicker if he offered his own.**


	25. Trust Is A Two-Way Street

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Trust Is A Two-Way Street**

Of course, they had to have a demonstration. Brock led the way outside, politely asked the ladies to turn their backs – Natasha laughed, but obeyed after some furious nudging from Clint, and May only raised an eyebrow until Skye stared her down – before stripping off.

"It's not _that_ good an ass, Rumlow," Clint cracked.

Rumlow flipped him the bird with a grin. Crouched down, looking out into the trees beyond the Playground, mentally erased the murmuring group behind him. Breathed in the scent of earth and nature – and _shifted_.

"Holy fucking _shit_," Hunter breathed it out, pretty much in unison with Tony, who grinned at him. Hearing them, the girls all turned around – and gasped.

Skye was already walking forward, the white tiger turning to greet her, butting its huge head gently against her stomach while she ran her hands into his ruff.

"Don't come too close," she warned as Jemma instinctively started forward. "He really doesn't like people very much in this form, I think."

"Seems to like _you_ well enough," May remarked dryly.

Blake's eyes closed in bliss as Skye scratched behind his ears, and he began to purr.

"My God, _so_ beautiful," Bobbi breathed, and all the others couldn't help but nod. The white tiger was magnificent, a gloriously primal creature. A force of nature. Golden eyes gleamed as the massive head swung round, surveying each and every one of them… and then suddenly there was a _shimmer_ and Rumlow was rising to his feet again.

"Woot, lucky Skye," Jemma said aloud before Skye hastily shoved Brock's clothes at him and stepped in front of him.

They reconvened inside and settled down to plan. Nobody disputed the fact that Brock in tiger form was the best equipped to scout the compound. He could cover far more ground at far better speed than any of the rest of them. And, as he said with a rather ruthless chill in his voice, if he did happen to run across any bad guys, he could maul them to death and make it look like they ran afoul of a bear.

He didn't mention that he'd change back and question them first. May and Natasha at least knew; they were both giving him approving looks, and Skye didn't seem bothered by the bloodthirsty remark, so he steeled himself against the horror he saw on other faces. The thought sickened him too, frankly, but this was for _Skye_. And he would do _anything_ to protect her, to eliminate this threat to her once and for all.

"We'll prep the Bus as our mobile command centre, fit the ground-penetrating radar gear and go in this evening," Phil planned, "then Rumlow can go in under cover of darkness…"

"I don't need darkness." Brock walked over to the big screen where the map of the terrain was displayed. Ran his finger along the western boundary of the property. "Here. This is a big river. They won't be bothering to guard in any significant way against incursion from this side. Drop me – here," he moved his finger further to the west. "Big mountain here, drop me on the far side of that. Approach from the west and they'll never suspect it was anything to do with them, even if they do have tech that can detect a quinjet. We'll come in low and be shielded by the mountains the whole way."

"You want to go in in daylight?" Steve asked, pursing his lips. "Isn't that risky?"

"They'll never see me. There's no habitation anywhere near here apart from that compound. Believe me I'll scent anyone around out there long before they see me, even if they do have snipers up in trees with long-range scopes. Which I doubt they'll bother with more than twenty-four hours before I'm due, so the sooner I go in, the better."

"Why has he given you so much time to deliver Skye?" Phil asked curiously then.

"Because I told him I needed a minimum forty-eight hours' notice." Brock hesitated, glanced at Skye. She came to his side and took his hand, squeezed it reassuringly. "For a start I didn't check the messages all that often, sometimes only once a day, and I warned them of that. And secondly I told them I was taking Skye out of the country somewhere isolated and would need time to bring her back."

They all nodded, understanding, but Brock wasn't done.

"And thirdly," he hung his head, not wanting to meet any of their eyes, but feeling the need to be honest, "while they didn't want me to touch her sexually, I was supposed to deliver her terrified and terrorised, so that she'd cling to any remotely friendly face."

And to his shame, he'd agreed to do just that. He was certainly more than capable of it. Only, the moment he'd started talking to Skye, he'd known he couldn't do it.

The hostility in the room was almost palpable. But Skye clung to his side, pressed closer to him. Reached up a soft hand to touch his rough-stubbled cheek, gazed at him with loving eyes.

"I could never have done it," he told her hoarsely. "Not once I'd met you. I don't think I could have brought myself to hurt you even then."

"I know," she whispered softly, pulling his head down to kiss him. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I love you."

"I know. It's all right, Brock. I forgive you."

"I can't forgive _myself_." Those hoarsely muttered words, and Skye's obviously loving touch, were what broke the tension in the room. Anger was still on every face, but it was tempered with understanding. They'd all done things they regretted. Made choices that turned out to be wrong. Some of those choices had proved more expensive than others.

"Sshh," Skye soothed him gently, stayed close until she felt the tension begin to go out of him. "All right then," she moved back a little, though she kept hold of his hand, and looked up at the screen. "So – we obviously need the Bus anyway. Who's going to fly Brock in?"

"I will," Clint said it before Bobbi. They looked at each other and shrugged. "Better I do it," Clint said to her. "I've operated a lot up there before. And I won't be any help here prepping the Bus. I already have my tactical gear on the quinjet. Once I've dropped him off, I'll scout out a place to set the Bus down."

"You'll need to arrange a helicopter," Brock said, "for me to bring Skye in, if it comes to that. We may need to lure them above ground."

Nobody liked the idea, but Tony nodded. He'd see to it.

"And can I get my weapons case back, please? I won't need it when I'm scouting, but if you could put it on the jet…"

Phil nodded. They were putting all their trust in Rumlow, but he couldn't see any other way to proceed. Not if they were going to take Ward and Cal down for good, and maybe Quinn too if he was there.

"All right. I'll need to send a response message to Ward and wait for acknowledgement."

They watched as he logged into a different board and typed another seemingly innocuous message, before going back to the original board.

"What does it say?" Skye asked when a new message popped up within a minute and Brock's mouth tightened, a tic starting to jump at the corner of his mouth.

"They want you delivered in twilight anaesthesia. Semi-conscious. Easily suggestible – and 'suitably prepared' by which they mean scared out of your wits." He turned away from the screen, wrapped Skye in his arms. "God, angel, I can't even bear to think about what they want to do to you."

She held on tightly, buried her face in his chest. Wasn't even aware of everyone else quietly leaving the room to give them a few minutes alone.

Brock nodded in response to Clint's quiet "Wheels up in thirty" but otherwise concentrated on holding tightly onto Skye.

"I wish we didn't have to do this," he muttered.

"They'd come after us if we didn't," Skye told him softly. "Even if the two of us just ran. Ward would come after the others, hurt my friends to make me give in. We have to stop them, and at a time and place of our choosing. It might be their home ground, but they have no idea what they're up against. This is our best shot to turn it into an ambush."

He stroked her hair, cupped her cheek in his hand. "I don't like leaving you. But I _am_ the best one for the job of scouting the place, and I know you'll be safe here with your friends and the Avengers." He hesitated. "I made a deal with Cap. If anything happens to me, stay close to him."

"Brock," tears glistened in her eyes. "Please don't say that. Nothing's going to happen to you. I can't… I only just _found_ you, I can't lose you now!"

"I know." He kissed her trembling mouth tenderly. "I'll be careful, I promise. They'll never even know I was there. I'll be back with you before you know it, you'll see, and we'll take these bastards down for good."

Skye shut her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. She didn't want his last memory to be of her crying. He kissed her eyelids tenderly.

"I love you," he breathed it very softly against her mouth. "I'll come back to you, Skye. No matter what separates us, I'll always come back to you."

She couldn't speak. Could only cling to him tighter, showing him wordlessly how much he meant to her, until a knock on the door told them that it was time for him to go.

**It's all getting very dramatic, huh? Not quite time for the big showdown yet, but time for Brock (and Blake) to prove his worth…**


	26. Separation

**Chapter Twenty-Six – Separation**

Skye did her best to stay busy that day, and she had plenty to do. Tony was busy with Fitz and Mack building the ground-penetrating radar equipment for the Bus, but she and Natasha researched everything they could find about the shell corporation that owned the Montana land and eventually did manage to trace ownership back to Ian Quinn. But he'd only taken ownership less than a year earlier, and the compound had certainly been established longer than that.

Further digging led them to a name Skye had hoped she'd never have to see again.

_John Garrett._

"The Clairvoyant," she mumbled, sitting back and staring at her screen. "I should have known. He was the one who took Ward to Wyoming originally. Why take him there if he didn't have something longer-term in mind?"

"He'd owned that land for over twenty years," Natasha said darkly, "been buying up bits and pieces all around until he had the one big parcel. Fucking survivalist."

They dug deeper and deeper into files and records, finding mysterious equipment purchases, earth-moving equipment delivered to a nearby town that didn't appear to have been used for anything. A heavy-lift helicopter crash in the area, ten years ago.

"He built a doomsday bunker," Skye concluded.

"More than one, considering all this gear. There's a whole network of tunnels there unless I miss my guess. And if he was working with Quinn and Cybertek all this time…"

"Which he was," Skye said gloomily.

"Then it'll be pretty damn sophisticated. We're not going to smoke them out by gassing the air shafts. And I've fought underground, in caves and tunnels. It's hell."

Natasha's green eyes were full of old ghosts. Skye said nothing about her own, but she couldn't help but think back to Puerto Rico and shiver. Underground tunnels were not somewhere she wanted to revisit. _And of course_, she realised with a blinding flash of clarity, Ward probably had a pretty fair understanding of that. The bastard. He planned to take her underground while she was drugged and confused, terrify her into thinking she was lost in the tunnels, and somehow manipulate her into doing things his way.

"Skye!" Natasha's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and she suddenly realised that everything in the room was tremoring lightly.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, slapping a lid on her power instantly. "I was thinking about Ward."

"Save it," was all the redheaded assassin said before turning back to her screen. "You'll have an outlet for your rage soon enough."

xoxoxoxox

Clint watched as the huge white tiger padded silently off into the forest. Shaking his head, he picked up Rumlow's discarded clothes and stowed them in the quinjet before getting out the trail bike he'd brought along. He wasn't going to sit idly on his hands and wait for Rumlow to get back. The nearest town to the compound was less than five miles from his current location. He'd go drift round there and keep his ears open. Maybe buy a few locals a few drinks and see if he could loosen any tongues.

xoxoxoxox

Brock loped silently through the thick forest. Swam the river that marked the boundary of the property – and immediately noticed a difference.

There was less wildlife around. Less of the bigger wildlife anyway, plenty of small woodland creatures but no sign of bear or deer, which was odd. He soon figured out why when he scented metal and found the first anti-personnel mine. Small creatures wouldn't set them off but larger ones would, and would soon learn to avoid this place.

It slowed him, having to travel while constantly on the alert for the scent of metal. But he was very glad he'd insisted on coming in alone, because no creature without his sensitive nose and the thinking brain of a man could possibly have made it through the trap zone of mines, pressure pads and trip wires without setting something off.

From the pattern of distribution, he surmised that it was a moat, in effect. A defensive ring around the compound itself, designed to prevent a ground approach. And it would work. Even a main battle tank would be stopped, he suspected, or at least slowed down enough for the compound's defenders to bring up heavier weapons.

There were security cameras in the trees, too. But his sensitive nose picked up the scents of plastic and metal, the hot smell of the batteries, long before he came into their range, and he avoided them, a silent black-and-white shadow in the thick undergrowth.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see above ground. The buildings were small, made to look like rustic cabins from the outside, but when he changed back to human form and investigated one, it was basically a cover for a heavy-duty ventilation unit. There were any number of the small cabins, some with cameras on, and he had no way to know which contained access to the tunnels without checking them all out, which would certainly draw unwelcome attention. Brock grimaced, slipped out of the cabin and headed back to the trees, shifting on the way.

He found Barton back where he'd left him and crept up to ambush him, just for the hell of it. Blake did like to play, after all.

"Argh!" Clint suddenly found himself flat on his back with about a ton of tiger on top of him. "Get off, Rumlow, you're not funny!"

He chuffed with laughter, moved off and shifted back. Reached for his clothes and started pulling them on.

"Asshole," Clint murmured, almost affectionately. He too had worked with Rumlow many times over the years and rather liked the other man, had been horrified to find out that he was HYDRA. When Nat had told him last night that they suspected HYDRA shrinks had been playing in Rumlow's head it made so much sense to Clint. He had always flatly refused counselling of any sort. Coulson and Fury had quietly made him – and Natasha – exceptions to the mandatory rule. "So did you find any Rodents Of Unusual Size?"

"It's not the Fire Swamp, Barton," Brock chuckled, tugging on his boots. "Although it's pretty close. Nobody going in there would come back out again."

"You're just saying that because nobody ever has."

"Oh, quit it with the Princess Bride jokes."

"But you're having so much fun storming the castle to save the princess! And apparently you really were mostly dead…"

"Enough. What did you find out in town?"

"That there's a lot more than sixty guards on the castle gates. The locals are pretty close-mouthed about it all, but I bought a few drunks a few drinks and pieced together a bit of information. The group call themselves the Heirs of Humanity. And they're your typical white-supremacist end-timers from the looks of things. Misogynistic, racist, xenophobic… I looked them up online when I got back, found some of their recruitment literature. Charming bunch." Clint handed over a tablet.

"Huh," Brock paged through a few screens. "That's very weird. Doesn't seem like a group Ward and Zabo would be mixed up with at all, never mind Quinn."

"Here's the fun part," Clint gave a very wry grin. "It was founded by John Garrett. Nat thinks it's a sort of HYDRA splinter cell that might not actually be affiliated with the main body. Garrett basically built his own little cult. And when he died, he left ownership of the property to Quinn – and leadership of the cult to Ward."

"And the two of them are smart enough not to start fucking around with the cult's ethos too quickly in case they get turfed," Brock murmured. "So they've basically got their own little private army."

"Oh, it gets better." The tone of Clint's voice clearly meant _worse_. "Have you heard of Centipede?"

Garrett had promised his followers that they would become a master race. More than human. Hence the name, Heirs of Humanity. They would be strong enough to defeat the aliens. And Ian Quinn had followed through and enhanced them. There was an unknown number of enhanced supersoldiers in that compound, and far from being controlled to do Quinn's bidding, these were dangerous fanatics willing and ready to die for their cause.

"Fuck," Brock muttered, paging through a couple more screens of propaganda. "The more I see, the more I think we should just have Skye come in here and quake the place, collapse the whole fucking network of tunnels down on their heads."

"Even though I kind of agreed with you," Clint said, "Coulson refused to ask her. One, Zabo's down there. And he might be a lunatic, but he _is_ her biological father and Coulson believes that Skye deserves to look him in the eye and ask him what the fuck his game is. And to leave her the hell out of it. Second – he refuses to ask her to be responsible for that many deaths." He reached past Rumlow and flicked to another screen. "Especially when some of them are women and children."

Rumlow's gorge rose as he looked at the picture of the young blonde woman cradling a baby. _Breeding the Next Generation of the Heirs of Humanity!_ the page proclaimed proudly. The blurb below the image proclaimed that women _of course_ could not be warriors, but that it was an _honour_ for them to bear the next generation of soldiers for the Cause.

"Ugh," he muttered.

"It gets better. Tasha ran facial recognition on that girl. Her name's Tamara Watkins. She disappeared without trace in Chicago two years ago. Troubled kid, teenage runaway, nobody looked all that hard. Who knows how many just like her they've got down there?"

Brock put his head in his hands. "Hostages."

"Yup. So we're not quaking the tunnels, or blowing them, or gassing them. We don't even want to _fight_ down there. We need to keep the fight above ground where possible. The plan is that once we have an ingress point, Coulson will take a team below ground to attempt to find and secure the hostages, evacuate them if possible. At the moment that team's going to be Tasha, May, Hunter and Bobbi, possibly Steve if there are a lot of the Centipede guys down there. The rest of us will stay topside and keep them busy up here." Clint's grin was vicious as he stroked his hand over his bow. "I brought plenty of arrows."

**NOTE: I do NOT in any way believe this is what Ward and/or Cal are up to in AoS. This is just about the nastiest motive I could come up with for them wanting Skye so badly. Say it with me: Author's AU. Author's AU. Author's AU.**


	27. Not Reasonable People

**Chapter Twenty-Seven – Not Reasonable People**

"But they might listen to me," Steve patiently tried to argue with Coulson. "I get _fan mail_ from white supremacist groups. Ghastly though I think they are. I might be able to reason with them, convince them to turn themselves in…"

Coulson only shook his head. "It's not happening, Steve. You were an icon to the Heirs of Humanity as a dead hero. As a live one, your actions and beliefs are somewhat less convenient. I'm afraid they view you as the Antichrist."

Steve drew back. Retreated to the back of the Bus's briefing room, his brow furrowed. He found himself standing next to Jemma, who melted at his confused expression.

"It's all right, I know you'd have tried," she murmured sympathetically.

"I don't understand what Coulson said about my beliefs…"

"Steve," she touched his wrist, drew him out of the room. "These aren't reasonable people. You can't reason with them. They wanted Captain America the comic-book legend, not Steve Rogers who is close friends with black people and aliens, who treats women as equals and allows them to fight alongside him."

Steve's lips tightened. "That's a medieval attitude, that women aren't just as capable as men in their chosen field," he said crossly. "I didn't put up with that nonsense back in the forties, and I'm not putting up with it today. And as for the colour of anyone's skin, what does _that_ matter?"

"It doesn't, not in the slightest. You can't change everyone's attitudes, not all at once. You're making a difference every day, just by being _you_. But these are _not reasonable people_. John Garrett was completely insane and I don't doubt any cult he founded – and that Ward is now leading – isn't going to be based on rational principles." She shivered, remembering Garrett's cold eyes as he'd ordered Ward to kill her and Fitz. Those eyes had haunted her nightmares for months. Not the sinking medical pod, not the certainty of drowning. The look in Garrett's eyes, as though she was no more than a bug to be crushed under his boot. Jemma had the awful feeling that nightmare would be back the next time she allowed herself to close her eyes.

"I will _never_ understand people," Steve's head dropped with sudden weariness. "I didn't understand HYDRA back then and I don't understand this now. It doesn't make _sense_."

"I know." Jemma hesitated, and then cautiously took his hand in hers. "Come on. You must be hungry, you haven't eaten for a while. I'll make you something."

His smile was weary, but beautiful enough to tug at her heartstrings. "Thank you. You're very kind."

"Just taking care of that super-soldier metabolism," Jemma tried to keep her voice steady, but it was very difficult when those strong warm fingers had folded around hers. "I'm responsible for your medical health while you're working with SHIELD, Captain Rogers, and I take my responsibilities very seriously."

"Hey, what happened to _Steve_, Jemma?" he protested, a true smile dawning slowly.

"Steve." A delicate blush touched her cheeks. "Um, I'll need my hand back." They'd reached the galley.

He started, dropped it hastily. He hadn't even realised he'd been holding it, her small, slender hand had felt so right in his. "Sorry."

"I don't mind." She blushed pinker. Began to gather ingredients. "Do you like omelettes?"

"Love them."

xoxoxoxox

May flew four passes over the area, keeping the Bus at altitude pretending to be a commercial airliner, before landing at the coordinates Clint had sent through. Skye was first down the ramp, throwing herself into Brock's arms as he came striding up.

"Hey, angel," he said huskily, holding her tightly.

She didn't say anything. Just pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him fiercely, uncaring of the thick scratchiness of his stubble.

"Save the most romantic kiss in the history of the world until _after_ we've dealt with the bad guys, Westley," Clint chuckled, walking past.

Brock flipped him the bird without breaking the kiss.

"What was he on about?" Skye asked a couple of minutes later.

"He's convinced we're living out a real-life version of The Princess Bride. Just don't ask. And smack him if he calls you Buttercup."

Skye chuckled as he put his arm around her shoulders and they began to walk back up the ramp. "We can't be. You haven't said 'As you wish' to me yet."

"Do I need to? You already know I'd do anything to make you happy, I think."

"Just being with you makes me happy."

He stopped walking at that, seized her for another hungry, demanding kiss. Skye moaned into his mouth, sagged against him when he let her go. "I am so dragging you into my bunk as soon as we can get out of this briefing."

"Let's not rush it, angel. We need to pay attention." He traced a finger slowly down her spine as she turned away with a huff. "And just think how much more you'll want it by the time we're done." His voice dropped to a husky rasp. "Think about how good it's going to be when I finally touch you."

"Any more of that and we're going to blow off the meeting and go straight to my bunk!"

"No you're not," May said sternly, making Skye jump and squeak as she opened the door at the top of the stairs. "Get your mind out of your pants and get up here."

May made Skye stand beside her on the opposite side of the room to Brock. Which was almost worse than standing close, because she kept catching him looking at her, and every time their eyes met his would hood with lust and he'd lick his lips hungrily.

Skye found it very difficult to keep her mind on the briefing, but she made herself, knowing it was important, and that she and Brock would have some private time later. Or as private as it could get, on a crowded Bus.

The passes May had flown proved completely useless. While the equipment Fitz and Tony had built worked perfectly well and showed a layer of tunnels beneath the surface, it couldn't distinguish between ventilation and access shafts, and it soon became clear that there was more than one layer of tunnels. It was a maze down there, and the radar hadn't penetrated deep enough to map it all. They would still be working without a plan once they got below.

Bobbi and Hunter had gone to collect a helicopter, and would bring it in the morning in time for Brock and Skye to fly in for Ward's deadline. May and Natasha had both argued that one of them should go in Skye's place, wearing a face veil, but she'd flatly refused.

"I don't think you could fool Ward," she said, "and if he suspects for one moment that it's not me, he'll kill Brock. Besides, no disrespect to either of you – I _am_ more dangerous."

They'd both looked annoyed at the reminder that she had powers, but grudgingly conceded when Coulson agreed with Skye. None of them wanted Skye or Rumlow to go in at all, but it was the only way to lure Ward and Cal out of the tunnels. They'd bring out at least a contingent of their men – Brock was fairly sure they would try and double-cross him, because Cal still wanted to experiment on him too. He'd had a contingency plan for that originally, and though he hesitated to mention it now, it still made sense as a logical move for him to take, to convince them that he was for real at least for a short while. He got a selection of filthy looks, but then Fitz headed off to make what he'd need without a further word.

"Would you really have done that?" Skye asked in a small voice once the briefing was over and the room had emptied out. She and Brock were the last ones remaining.

He sighed, walking over to her and taking her hands. "It was my original plan to ensure I got away clean, yes. I didn't trust Ward and Zabo not to try and take me in as well. I had what I'd need to make it up at the cabin. But after I met you – well, I never even started. I think I knew from the first day that I couldn't hand you over to them. Don't ask what I planned to do instead because I don't know. I was making it up as I went along from the first moment you opened your eyes and threatened to kill me even though you were shackled to my bed."

She had to grin at that. "I was _very_ angry."

"You're very beautiful when you're angry."

Skye smiled up at him as he lifted her hands, kissing her knuckles lightly. "I think I started fantasising about you right about then."

"Did you?" his smile was pleased. "Thought about me having my wicked way with you while you were pinned down and helpless, hmm?"

"Oh yes," she agreed breathlessly. "And then when you actually did it you exceeded _all_ of my expectations."

"I know what I haven't done yet," his eyes were bright with mischief, and Skye just _knew_ she was going to regret asking. She did anyway. "I haven't played caveman and carried you off to bed over my shoulder. I think it's totally expected of me."

"Don't you dare!" she squealed with laughter as he swooped, hefting her up easily. "Brock! You shit, put me down!"

Heads turned as he strode though the lounge, but they could all hear Skye giggling and she clearly wasn't really protesting. Brock just smirked at everyone who looked at them and swatted Skye's ass lightly when she started to wiggle.

"Which cubicle is yours, angel?"

"Second from the left," she panted, and he let them in and closed the door behind them. "Brock, put me _down_."

"You sure about that?" he eased her down off his shoulder, but didn't put her on her feet. Instead he held her up against the wall and stepped between her legs, grinding his arousal against her groin through the layers of their clothes. "_Quite_ sure you want me to put you down?"

Skye's legs wrapped instinctively around him, her head fell back against the wall and she moaned; he swooped in and started sucking a bruise into the tender skin of her throat. She pulled at his shirt, frantic to feel his skin against hers.

"Down. Clothes. Off."

Brock grinned against her throat as she moaned out the incoherent words. She was right, though; much though he didn't want to put her down they would indeed get their clothes off much quicker if he did. Setting Skye on her feet he yanked his shirt off and reached for his belt buckle, smiling at the distracted look on her face as she ran her hands slowly up over his thick chest muscles.

"Get those clothes off before I start ripping them off," he growled.

**Well… there might be time for ONE more smut chapter before the big climactic action scenes…**

**(I FINISHED WRITING THIS TODAY. YAY. There are 33 chapters total and an epilogue, so just about a week left to go…)**


	28. You Won't Lose Me

**Chapter Twenty-Eight – You Won't Lose Me**

Skye was all fingers and thumbs undressing, aware of Brock watching her as he stripped off his own clothes, for once tossing them carelessly aside instead of folding them neatly. When she was down to just her panties he stepped in close, brushing her hands aside as she moved to take them off.

"I'll take care of those." He pushed her against the wall with his body, hands coming up to caress her breasts, thumb her already taut nipples to aching points, his hot mouth seeking over hers as she melted against him. And then he went to his knees and gently began to tug her panties down with his teeth.

No one had ever done that to Skye before, and she couldn't believe how sexy it was, this powerful, dominant man kneeling at her feet, worshipping her with his hands and his mouth as her panties fell to the floor and he nuzzled back up between her thighs.

"Spread for me," Brock whispered, nudging at her knees, and she did, giving him space to put his face in and lick a long slow stripe over her with his tongue, slurping up the juices leaking from her sex. He let out a low, satisfied sound and felt her shudder as his rough tongue teased over her clit.

One hand pressed against the wall to brace herself, the other slid into his hair as he kept licking and Skye couldn't suppress her breathy moans. Her knees were shaking and Brock put one big hand on her thigh to steady her, the other curving behind her ass.

Skye still couldn't believe how good the rough texture of his tongue felt. She ran her fingers into his thick black hair, scratched at his scalp. Moaned again as his fingers caressed lightly, gathering creamy moisture, before one blunt-tipped finger pressed wetly at the tight ring of muscle of her ass.

"_Brock_," she moaned his name, digging her nails harder into his scalp as his finger eased slowly in.

"This okay, angel?" he took his mouth off her long enough to ask.

"Yeah oh God." The little bit of pressure-pain, combined with the incredible things his tongue was doing to her clit, pushed Skye right up to the precipice. "I'm gonna come Brock I'm gonna _ohhhhh_."

Her whole body shook, and Brock moaned with delight, slurping thirstily. "God, you're so perfect," he muttered, getting to his feet a few moments later, taking the time to kiss up her flat stomach, lick and suckle her nipples for a few moments. "So sensitive, Skye, I love that I can do this to you."

He'd slipped his finger out of her ass, curved both hands under her buttocks now and hoisted her up easily. "I wanna fuck you right here up against this wall, angel. You gonna let me do that?"

Incoherent with passion, the only response Skye could make was to wrap her legs around his waist and try to pull him against her, her hands sliding over his heavily muscled shoulders and clawing at his back as he lowered her slowly onto his rigid, straining cock.

His coarse stubble rasped her chin and she tasted herself on his mouth as she kissed him, but Skye didn't care, licking and nipping fiercely at Brock's lips, frantic with passion. He felt utterly amazing, filling her perfectly as he pinned her between the cool wall and his hot, heavily muscled body. His chest hair stimulated her nipples, his strong hands on her ass supporting her weight easily as he thrust, slamming into her in a rough, violent rhythm that drove her completely insane.

Skye was letting out the most wonderful noises, breathy little shrieks and wails that only inflamed his lust for her further. Her nails clawed at his shoulders, her heels dug into his ass, and he groaned as he realised he just didn't have the leverage he needed, couldn't get the angle he really wanted in this position, good though it felt. Pulling out, he grinned at her agonised wail of loss.

"I got you, angel, don't worry," he chuckled softly, turning to lower her to the bed. "Just changing things up a bit." Hooking his elbows under her knees, he lifted her ass into his lap, rubbed the tip of his cock over her clit a few times.

"Unh, please," Skye reached down, stroked the slick shaft rubbing between her legs, tried to push it downwards. "Want you in me. Want you to fuck me, fuck me _hard_, Brock, please, just do it!"

He grinned and leaned down a little lower, his eyes half-lidding with pleasure as he felt the sleek, hot grasp of her soaked tunnel sucking at him. "This what you want, sweetheart? Want my cock in you?"

"Yes, oh god yes," Skye wasn't even aware that she was babbling as he sank deep, lifting her ankles up to his shoulders, then raising her hips in the air with his strong hands under her ass. She could only think about how insanely wonderful he felt, filling her to the brim as he plunged deep. "So good, I love your cock in me, want it all the time, _argh_!" She let out a scream of ecstasy as he shifted, seeking and finding her G-spot, before bringing one hand to her stomach and rubbing his thumb firmly over her clit.

"That's it, oh yeah," Brock growled low in his throat as he felt the first delicate flutters around him that presaged Skye's impending climax. He pumped harder, circling her clit with his thumb, watching her face as her eyes rolled back and her mouth opened in a soundless scream. "Fucking love watching you come, angel," he gritted out. "You're so fucking beautiful like this." He fucked her through the orgasm, watching her face as she came down slowly, easing his rhythm gently so as not to overstimulate her.

"So lovely," he whispered, lowering her feet back to the bed, leaning in to kiss her tenderly, stilling for a few moments to let her recover. "Love you so much."

She caressed his shoulders with shaking hands, unable to speak just then. It took a few moments before she was able to gather her wits sufficiently to mutter; "God, Brock, are you trying to kill me?"

"Hardly," he chuckled softly, kissing her, moving gently to remind her that he was still fully hard inside her, enjoying the little whimper she let out at the movement. "Just finding out how much you can take. Can you take a little more, sweetheart?"

"Unnn," Skye couldn't even think straight as he slid gently back and forth, pumping slowly. "Dunno."

"Hmm, I think you can." Easing out of her gently, he grinned as she moaned and grabbed at him. "I'm not done yet. Turn over."

She obeyed eagerly even though her legs were still trembling, going to her hands and knees and looking back over at her shoulder at him as he sat back on his haunches, casually pumping his cock in one hand as he watched her.

"Perfect," Brock whispered, gazing at Skye as she presented herself for him, her pussy slick and shining wetly, dark hair tumbling across her eyes as she looked at him. He leaned forward to brush it aside, wanting to see her face.

"_This_ is what you want, isn't it?" Skye said softly. "Your feral side wants _this_. Take me, Brock. Make me yours. _Mate_ me."

He lost it completely at her quietly voiced command. Or was it a plea? He grasped her hips in his hands and took what he wanted, barely retaining enough sanity to make the first few thrusts slow and careful, until she adjusted, until she was pushing back against him and making mewling sounds in her throat.

Skye didn't think that Brock was aware of the sounds he was making, deep throaty growls and snarls as he took her, pounded deep into her very willing body, his hands holding her hips still so he could plunge to his full depth. It felt _wonderful_; she dropped to her elbows to brace herself better against his hard thrusts, lifted her ass higher so he could get deeper.

Mate. My_._ _Mate_. Skye had said the word and something deep in Brock had responded viscerally, a fiercely possessive part of him he hadn't even known existed until she turned his whole world upside down. "Mine," he growled as he felt the tingling at the tip of his cock beginning, felt his balls pull up to his body, preparatory to shooting his load deep into her. "You're _mine_."

"Yes," Skye cried out, straining back against him as she felt the delicious sensation of his barbs beginning to tease against her cervix. "I'm yours, Brock, always, _ohhh, nnnn_!"

Buried to the hilt in her welcoming heat, maddened with lust, he roared out her name as the first hot pulse exploded out of him. The barbs had already locked him deep, he could no longer move; not that he needed to as he felt Skye coming around him again, even as further pulses of his seed surged up his rigid cock and flooded into her.

"So good," he choked, easing them down to the bed, careful not to pull back, leaning on his elbows so as not to crush his weight down on her. He pressed tender kisses across her shoulders and the back of her neck, shuddering occasionally as another hot pulse tore out of him, listening to Skye's soft gasps of pleasure at each one. "That feel good, angel?"

"Amazing," she choked, shuddering as another wave of heat rippled through her. "Just so – like nothing I ever felt before. _Unnn_."

He stroked her back, kissed her shoulder tenderly, holding her close against him until he felt himself soften and was able to slip out of her. Skye immediately twisted over and reached for him, tucking her face into the curve of his neck.

"You," she mumbled against his throat, "have utterly _ruined_ me for any other man."

"Good," he murmured possessively, tightening his arms around her, "because although I promised Coulson that I'd walk away if you changed your mind about me – I'm not sure that I could do that." He hesitated, and then told her the truth. "You were right about the feral part of me, Skye. All of my instincts are screaming that you're my mate, that I have to keep you safe and destroy any possible threat to you. That's why I reacted so strongly to Quinn's name when we found out he was involved."

A little to his surprise, his confession only made her snuggle closer. "I'm glad."

"Glad that I can't control the animal part of me?" he said bitterly, and she pulled her head back, looked in his eyes and brought one soft hand to his rough cheek.

"No, Brock. Glad that you feel I belong to you. Because I do. I've never felt like this before, like I truly have someone who's mine, and that I'm yours. Ward wanted to _own_ me, to control me and turn me into what he wanted me to be, but you don't do that. I'm yours but I'm still _me_, and what you're protecting is my right to _be_ me. You have no idea how precious that is."

Brock shook his head slowly, stroking her hair gently. "Angel – I've made some really fucking terrible choices with my life. I'd be an arrogant idiot to think that I could make better choices for you than you're making for yourself. I'd far rather trust in your judgement for both of us."

"Which is why I love you," she whispered, gazing into his golden eyes. "Be careful tomorrow, Brock. I don't think I could bear to lose you now, not when we've only had each other such a short time."

He kissed her, slow and tender. "Don't you worry, angel. You won't lose me. I'm not so easy to kill."

**Let's hope not, hmm? Hope you enjoyed this little smutterlude (smutty interlude) before the Big Confrontation begins…**


	29. Stop Thinking

**Chapter Twenty-Nine – Stop Thinking**

Skye would have been quite happy to snuggle there and fall asleep in Brock's arms, but he wasn't having any of it, insisting they both needed to get up and eat a decent meal. She grumbled at him until he promised to undress her and make love to her again afterwards.

"You think you can bribe me with sex?" Skye lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Considering your nipples just pinged against my chest and I can smell you're gettin' aroused again, I think it's worth a try," he gave her an extremely masculine grin.

"Asshole," she said without heat, because he was absolutely right.

"You like it."

"Sometimes," she allowed with a teasing grin over her shoulder as she swung her legs off the narrow bed and reached for her scattered clothes. He stretched luxuriantly, catlike, and she couldn't help stopping to stare. His body really was a work of art, all olive-tan skin over sculpted muscle. Skye licked her lips.

"Stop lookin' at me like that or we'll be makin' love again _before_ dinner."

Her stomach had started rumbling as soon as she moved, so Skye laughed and looked away, blushing. She picked up Brock's cargo pants and tossed them at him without looking at him again, heard him sigh and pull them on, not bothering with underwear. He wouldn't have bothered with a shirt either except she told him Jemma would probably swallow her tongue.

"Eh, she's too busy eyeing up Cap to notice me."

"_What?_" Skye's shirt was over her head, so the word came out muffled. She yanked it down and stared at him. "Jemma and _Captain America_?"

"Well, he's looking back, so yeah, if he can get past his shyness." Brock grinned up at her from where he was seated on the bed pulling his boots on. "I'm pretty sure he's still a virgin, though, so she might have to jump him."

Skye had absolutely no idea what to say to any of that. She was still processing the idea of Jemma and _Captain America_. But she trusted Brock's powers of observation – he'd already proved time and again that he saw things she would never have noticed. She found herself watching Jemma and Steve over dinner. They weren't sitting next to each other, but their eyes kept meeting as though neither of them could quite keep looking away, and both of them blushed every time they did.

_Well, if we get through tomorrow I might have to lock the two of them together in a cupboard or something_. She met Brock's amused glance and grinned at him.

"All right," Coulson got to his feet once everyone had finished eating. "Time to move. Get some sleep, you two." He nodded at Skye and Brock, and one by one the SHIELD team came to embrace her tightly, whispering their best wishes to her. Everyone else was leaving tonight. Sam and Tony were going to fly them in at low level above the minefield, and they would then make their way quietly to the compound's inner perimeter, each carrying a device that Tony swore would make them invisible to surveillance cameras. They'd all be in position to stage the perfect ambush when Brock and Skye flew in with the helicopter in the morning.

They'd been paired off so that the non-field agents – Jemma, Fitz and Mack – were partnered with more experienced. Knowing what she did now, Skye was unsurprised to see that Jemma and Steve were paired off. Mack went with Bobbi and Fitz with Hunter. May and Phil, and Clint and Natasha made up the other pairs. Sam and Tony would fly aerial support, so they at least would be returning to the Bus to get some sleep first.

They'd all insisted on going. Skye had protested at Jemma, Fitz and Mack. But Jemma had shaken her head, looking at the picture of the girl and the baby, and simply said; "I'll be needed," and Fitz and Mack had both muttered something about axes to grind. Skye just prayed that none of them would be hurt or killed because of her.

"It's not because of you," Brock told her quietly as she lay in his arms, unable to sleep. "Don't think that, Skye. It's not _about_ you, really. You're just the catalyst. Sooner or later this was going to happen. Better now, before Quinn, Ward and Zabo complete whatever diabolical plan they've got going up here, which having you is obviously central to somehow."

She couldn't argue with him, but she still couldn't sleep for worrying, until he pulled her closer and kissed her again, his strong hands roving gently down her body.

"Sshh," he whispered tenderly. "Stop thinking, angel. Let me love you."

She fell, finally, into an exhausted, sated sleep, curled in his arms. Brock lay staring up at the ceiling until morning came.

Sam was the only one on the Bus when they got up. He nodded at them, pushed a small bag across the table towards Skye.

"Nat left this. Said you'd better cover up the stubble rash."

She blushed, thinking of the pinkish marks all over her body – but Natasha had meant just the ones on her face, she knew. And the love bites on her neck. She scooped up the bag and headed for the bathroom.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at Rumlow, who helped himself to cereal before sitting down. "She all right?"

"Nervous," Brock shrugged, digging in. "Can't blame her. She's not used to this shit. She's never operated undercover, or as a double agent."

"Unlike you."

He paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "Yeah, I guess I deserved that."

Sam leaned back, folded his arms across his chest. "I was all set to hate you. But you're not the same guy I fought in the Triskelion, Rumlow. Whatever they did to you afterwards, broke you out of your programming."

"I wasn't brainwashed," Brock said immediately, shaking his head. "I don't have that excuse."

"Actually – I think perhaps you do."

He stared incredulously as Sam gently explained his theory about the SHIELD psychologists. About Brock's clearly falsified assessments.

"It was subtle and insidious, and it's taken massive trauma – and you isolating yourself to sort out your own head – to snap you out of it," Sam concluded.

"Fuck," Brock leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

"What did you say to him?" Skye's angry voice made Sam look up.

"Told him what he needed to know to get himself out through the other side of this. What he needs to start forgiving himself and _stop_ thinking he should sacrifice himself for you." Sam stood up from the table, put a hand on Brock's shoulder. "Skye needs you _alive_, Rumlow. Not a dead hero. We've all seen too many of those."

"Were you really planning to sacrifice yourself for me?" Skye asked, once Sam had left.

Brock looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed. She was huddling her arms around herself, looking very small and vulnerable. "If it comes down to it, Skye, I still will do that, because you're worth a hundred of me any day of the week. But yeah – I was kind of thinking that maybe it would be a suitable atonement for my sins…"

She'd have slapped his face if she didn't suspect it might break her hand. Instead she stood and glared at him and said slowly and clearly "Don't you fucking well _dare_."

He choked off a bitter laugh. Held out his arms to her, waited until she came to him slowly. "Considering what Sam just told me, I think maybe there is a way back for me after all, even if it's going to be a long, hard road."

"Then it's a road we'll take together," she said softly, pressing his big, rough hand between both of her small ones. "Because I'm gonna be right beside you every step of the way."

"I don't deserve you."

She looked up at him with that spark of defiance he so adored dancing in her dark eyes. "Tough shit. You're mine now and I'm not letting you go."

He pressed his lips to her dark hair, careful not to muss the makeup she'd carefully applied. Whatever Natasha had given her was the good stuff, he couldn't tell she was even wearing any, but the marks he'd left on her soft skin were completely masked. The primal part of him mourned their absence, wanted to shout out to the world, and _particularly_ that bastard Ward, that Skye belonged to _him_. But he knew there were other marks beneath her clothes, could still scent himself all over her, and that would have to be enough.

They ate quietly and went to prepare. While Skye couldn't be visibly armed, Natasha had provided several weapons that could be easily concealed under regular clothes, including a butterfly knife that clipped inside her bra, anaesthetic darts in a belt buckle, a garrotting wire threaded inside the belt itself. Brock, however, was armed for battle.

Skye stared in amazement as he opened the metal weapons case he'd brought with him from the cabin and shrugged into a harness that crossed over his chest before hanging a truly impressive number of weapons from it. "Is that your normal loadout?" she had to ask.

"Was when I was STRIKE leader, yeah," he didn't even look up, just strapped a holster on each thigh with a gun and knife in each. Shrugged his shoulders to settle everything into place as he straightened up. "And at that I sometimes still ran out of weaponry."

She counted five guns, a pair of shocksticks, no less than eight knives – including a bigass one that looked almost like a machete down his spine – and ten spare ammunition clips. "Wow. I knew STRIKE was badass, but I didn't know just _how_ badass."

He seemed to stand a little straighter, his muscles thrown into even sharper relief by the tightly cinched harness. "Best of the best, baby. Why do you think they gave me Rogers to manage? They knew I was the only one with a hope in hell of keeping a handle on him, and that was _before_ I was enhanced."

Skye couldn't help but be impressed. Lustful, even, though she knew there was no more time for that. Especially when he picked up the wide metal collar Fitz and Tony had made the night before.

"I gotta put it on you now, angel."

She swallowed. Nodded. It made no sense to be nervous, not when she knew the collar wasn't what it looked like. That there were no explosives in it at all. A red light blinked on as Brock clicked it shut around her neck.

"Jesus, I can barely stand to see that on you," he said, his voice tight. "When I think…"

"Don't." She reached up, put her finger to his lips. "Don't go there. You didn't do it, you _wouldn't_ have done it. This is just a prop to fool Ward and Cal. I can get it off any time I want."

He bit his lip, nodded finally. Scooped up the matching trigger remote and shoved it in his pocket. "Let's go then, angel."

He buckled her into the passenger seat of the helicopter with gentle hands. Secured her wrists together with the cuffs Mack had carefully broken so the locks wouldn't hold against a firm pull, and made her test them.

"Good," when she popped out of them easily. Closed them around her wrists again, picked up the tiny, transparent earbuds Tony had provided and held them up. "The moment we put these in, we're on open comms with the others."

"I know." She looked into his golden eyes. "I love you. Don't you dare get yourself killed."

"I love you too, angel." He leaned in for one final kiss, their lips touching only lightly, before putting the earbud carefully into her ear.

"Sierra Two is on the comm," Skye said, watching at Brock circled the chopper to get into the pilot's seat, fitting his own earbud. It was strange to hear his voice both in her ear and beside her as he checked in too.

"Sierra One is on the comm, preparing for departure, T minus ten."

"Copy that, Sierra One, Sierra Two," Coulson's calm voice in her ear was so familiar, so steadying, Skye felt herself relaxing instinctively. _Just another mission_, she tried to tell herself. "T minus ten, Charlie One acknowledges." His voice hesitated, then returned. "Don't die out there."

Skye couldn't help a smile as she heard a choked-off chuckle that could only have been Hunter. "You too, Charlie One," she said fondly, hoping he heard her over the roar that was the helicopter's turbine starting.

**I realised while writing this chapter that Rumlow himself didn't know about the shrinks who'd been messing with his head. And I don't think he can really start to heal until he truly understands what's been done to him, so I had to have Sam tell him now, before Brock did anything dumb in the fight because he still believes he's not worth saving. The big fight really does start next chapter, promise…**


	30. Showdown

**Chapter Thirty – Showdown**

The helicopter circled down to land at the precise GPS co-ordinates Ward had sent through to Brock. Skye wanted desperately to look out, but she needed to sit still, her head hanging low, in an apparent daze. Brock was talking anyway, filling everyone in on what he could see. Which was nothing.

Nobody in sight.

"I concur," Tony's voice said. Iron Man was high above them, hiding above some convenient cloud cover, but he'd been scanning the ground for hostiles. "No heat signatures."

"Come on, you bastard," Brock muttered as he settled the helicopter gently to the ground and turned off the engine. He stayed in place until the blades stopped moving, glanced at Skye. "I'm going to do what they expect, which is get out and look around, but I'll stay close by the chopper in case they try an ambush. The nearest outlet to the surface is fifty metres away, so they won't get to you."

"Okay," she whispered softly, glancing sideways at him. He allowed himself one quick caress of her hand before getting out, drawing a gun and moving around the other side of the chopper, looking around warily. The blades had fallen silent, so after a moment he shouted;

"Grant Ward!"

For long moments, there was no response, and then he heard Tony say, "They're coming. Heat signatures popping up all over the fucking place, Jesus – I count forty, no, sixty, seventy…"

_Fucking hell, they really mean business_. Brock allowed no expression other than a mild impatience to cross his face, though, turning back towards the chopper and opening the passenger door.

"Come on, girlie," he barked harshly, unclipping Skye's harness and hauling her out of the chopper with a strong grip on her upper arm. "Your boyfriend will be along any minute, let's show him we mean business."

She allowed him to drag her, staggering against him, letting herself fall limply against his side. Pretended to flinch away as he put an arm around her from behind, as though using her as a shield.

"Here she is, Ward!" Brock shouted, putting his gun hand under Skye's chin, tilting her head up so her hair fell back from her face. "Now where's my fucking money?"

For another long moment there was silence. And then from beneath the trees surrounding the clearing where they'd landed came two tall, dark figures.

"What the fuck is that on her neck?" Ward demanded fiercely.

Brock smiled at him over the top of Skye's head. "I know how keen the good Doctor here is to get his hands on me too," he nodded towards Cal. "Figured I'd need some insurance in case you tried to pull a double-cross. Unless I enter a specific code on the remote in my pocket – and it's got a ten kilometre range – it'll go off in thirty minutes. I'll enter it when I'm clear of this place. So you get to choose. Her, or me. Not both of us."

Ward ground his teeth, looking at the collar bomb around Skye's slender neck. "It has to be her," he muttered under his breath.

"I know. Quinn won't like it. He wanted Rumlow, to see if he could use him to improve the Centipede serum. He only put up the money because we told him we could get Rumlow too," Cal muttered back.

"He'll have to fucking get the bastard another way. I won't risk Skye." Ward started forward, only for Rumlow's gun to point directly at his head.

"Not you. You stay there. The doc."

Cal moved unhesitatingly, heading towards Skye. "It's all right, Daisy. My sweet baby girl. Daddy's here now."

She smiled vaguely at him, encouraging him to go close, a broad smile on his face. "I'll take care of everything, Daisy. You've finally come to your destiny."

"And what's that?" Rumlow asked curiously. "I found out a few things about your little hideaway up here. Can't say it jibed with what I know of Ward, at least."

"Then you're a fool," Cal said derisively. "This is the new homeland. Breeding ground of a new generation, the beginnings of a superior race, the heirs of humanity. And my Daisy is destined to be the matriarch."

Brock lowered the gun under Skye's jaw. Her father was between her and Ward now, but still a good few steps away.

"Don't you mean brood mare?" Skye said.

The smile dropped from Cal's face at her clear, calm tone. His eyes fell to Rumlow's arm around her, not restraining or supporting her as he saw now, but tenderly holding her close. No fool, he jumped instantly to the correct conclusion.

"My Daisy," he said fondly. "You do seem to have the power of making the most extraordinary men fall for you." He looked back up to Rumlow's eyes. "Join us, Rumlow. You'd be an even better mate for her than Ward. You could sire an extraordinary race, not just with Daisy but as many women as you could want…"

"Eugenics ain't my style," Brock said coldly. "Nor is it my belief that women are nothing but chattel." He dropped his arm from around Skye, moved to stand beside her as she snapped the cuffs off her wrists and yanked off the harmless collar bomb, throwing it at Cal's feet. "Say the word, Skye," his gun came up. Pointed steadily between Cal's eyes.

"Now let's talk about this," Cal stepped back, holding his hands up. "Daisy, darling…"

"Stop calling me that!" she snapped, her voice cracking.

His mouth tightened, but he nodded. "I can see that you have deep feelings for Rumlow here. He's special too, did you know that? Not like you, but different. Your mother would have approved."

"Wait just a fucking minute," Ward had been edging slowly closer. "Skye – Daisy – is _mine_. You _promised_."

"But that was before I realised _he_ was an option," Cal said, and Skye shuddered, because the way he was looking at Brock reminded her far too much of the way Whitehall had looked at her, when he told her that discovery required experimentation. "He's an exceptional specimen. He survived procedures that killed men supposedly far stronger than he is, when he was near death himself. Adapted and became _better_, became perhaps the most efficient killer I've ever seen. And I _still_ don't think we saw _all_ that he is."

"No," Ward said in disbelief. "She's _mine_."

"Eh," Cal waved a dismissive hand at Ward. "You're only human still, human DNA. He's _more_. A far more fitting sire for her children. Have you bred her yet? Could you already be pregnant, darling girl?" he looked down at Skye's flat stomach, and actually rubbed his hands together with glee.

Brock's finger tightened on the trigger. But it was Ward who fired the shot, his hand snapping up faster than the eye could follow.

Cal stood frozen for a moment, still staring at Skye. And then he collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut, half the side of his head missing.

And as Ward's arm came up and his sleeve pulled back along his arm, Skye saw something horrific.

"_Centipede_!" she screamed, and flung her hands out towards him, quaking the ground at his feet, throwing him off balance as he spun to point the gun at Brock. "Ward's Centipede!"

She could never forget those glowing golden exoskeletal grafts. She'd seen them up close and personal on Mike Peterson, and saw it again now on Ward's forearm, saw his enhanced speed as he turned with murderous intent, but she'd been just quick enough and his shots went wild, passing harmlessly over their heads.

From the moment that Ward and Cal had moved out of the trees, the Avengers and SHIELD had been creeping silently up behind the Centipede-enhanced soldiers hidden all around. They'd taken out almost twenty without raising the alarm while Rumlow and Cal spoke, and Skye's scream was the trigger to 'go loud'. Iron Man came howling down out of the sky, rockets firing, and the Falcon suddenly swooped up over the trees and dived down again. Gunfire started cracking all around.

"Your buddies are a bit fucking busy, Ward!" Brock yelled even as Ward shouted for backup on his comm. "Just you and me now!" The ground was still shaking, even as Skye tried frantically to steady things down; he couldn't rely on his aim. He pulled a knife in his free hand, stepped forward.

And Ward turned and ran.

"What the – you fucking _coward_!" Brock yelled, leaping after him.

"Brock, no, _ambush_!" Skye screamed frantically, and only her voice reined in his instinct to chase. This was Ward's territory, he remembered. And he was well-trained, he'd have bolt holes and ambush spots set up.

Besides, he couldn't leave Skye.

"Let's get under cover," he said crisply, returning to her side. "He'll be back. We both know that. We'll make him come to us." The battle chatter in his ear was dying down as the surprised Centipede soldiers were quickly overwhelmed.

"I've got Quinn," May said then, breathlessly. "I'm bringing him in."

Skye and Brock exchanged surprised looks. They hadn't really expected Quinn to be here.

"Now don't kill him straight up," Steve put a restraining hand on Brock's arm as they stood beneath the trees, the others surrounding them, Tony and Sam hovering overhead as May force-marched a handcuffed Quinn up to them. "If nothing else he'd be a useful guide to the tunnels."

Skye couldn't quite keep from wincing back, though, remembering the way Quinn had so calmly looked in her eyes and _smiled_ as he pulled the trigger to put two bullets in her gut. Brock's arm was strong around her shoulders, though, and she made herself stand still and look.

Ian Quinn no longer looked like the urbane, successful businessman-turned-terrorist she'd first met at his luxurious Malta estate. Gone were the expensive suits and the stylish haircut; instead he wore boots and camouflage fatigues, his hair cropped military short. The eyes were the same, though. The coldest blue Skye had ever seen.

"_You_," he spat on seeing her, "are a fucking _menace_."

Nobody even tried to stop Brock as he stepped forward and backhanded Quinn across the face. May just let go and let him fall to the ground, squealing with pain, spitting blood and teeth. Even Coulson bared his teeth in a smile of grim satisfaction.

"And _you_," Brock said icily, "are going to tell us everything you know. Or you're going to find out just how much pain a man can suffer before he starts begging to die."

**New pants required for Mr Quinn, methinks…**


	31. Closure

**Chapter Thirty-One – Closure**

Quinn started babbling even before Natasha knelt down beside him with a knife in her hand. He told her, through his smashed teeth, about the smartphone in his pocket with a map of the tunnels on it, how many men were still down there, their locations, codes for doors – everything. His eyes, as he looked at Brock, were wide and utterly terrified.

"Let's go, then," Phil said, getting to his feet. "Quicker we get down there, the quicker we can clean this mess up. Bring him, Agent Romanoff. We'll make sure everything he told us is true."

"Wait," Quinn choked out. "You're the _Black Widow_?"

"Indeed, and you were so scared of Rumlow you didn't even notice. I think I'm hurt," Natasha put a hand over her heart theatrically, winked at Rumlow and dragged Quinn to his feet. "But don't think I can't make good on his threat if you try anything, buddy."

Considering Quinn's information, it was quickly decided that everyone would go below except for Brock, Skye, Tony and Sam. Tony and Sam took to the skies again and Skye and Brock had nothing to do but wait.

"He'll come," Skye said softly.

"I know."

"He'll try to kill you. Maybe me, too."

"I know that too, and he's not going to get either of us." He reached back and squeezed her wrist lightly in his hand. They were standing back to back, both facing outwards, scanning the trees.

"Heat signature at your three o'clock, Rumlow," Tony's voice said sharply. "Want me to light him up?"

"Yes," Skye said instantly, just as Brock said;

"No. This is my fight. He's mine to kill."

"_Brock_," she said a little piteously.

"I need to do this, Skye. Range, Stark?"

"Two hundred yards. Moving slowly…"

Not a fixed-point ambush, then. Possibly a long-range rifle, he knew Ward was a top sniper, almost Barton's equal. Would be impossible to get a shot at that range, though, with all these trees, he'd never get a clear line of sight. And he certainly wouldn't be expecting Blake.

Brock smiled. Hit the release for his weapon harness, shrugged out of it. He'd already given Skye a pair of guns, he laid the harness at her feet now.

"What are you doing…" she turned to look at him. "Brock?"

He bent to kiss her quickly. "Watch over her, Stark," he said, and then he turned away and _burst_ out of his clothes, the massive white tiger leaping through the trees towards the man creeping silently towards them.

"Brock!" Skye screamed, sprinting after him, but he was moving so fast he was gone from sight before she'd taken three steps. She heard a gunshot and screamed again.

"Jesus H. Christ," Tony said, and swooped down. "Sam, cover us!" he caught Skye around the waist even as she ran. "You don't want to blunder into that, sweetheart," he swept her up into the air.

"Take me _back_, Stark!"

"I'm having the oddest sense of _déjà vu_," he muttered, but held her steady in mid-air, shielding her behind a tall tree. "You can see from here, honey. Coulson will kill me if I let anything happen to you. I don't think it's going to last long…"

Ward had actually been quick enough to get a shot off as the tiger bounded towards him, and Brock had been right, it was a high-powered rifle. He felt the hit only as a distant pain in his left foreleg; it didn't remotely slow him down as he sprang.

Grant Ward saw his death coming in the yellow eyes of the immense beast bearing down on him at terrifying speed even to his Centipede-enhanced senses. He jerked the rifle up and fired a shot before dropping it and grabbing for his sidearm; his hand never reached the grip before the tiger's huge front paws connected with his chest, flinging him to the ground, numbing his shoulders and arms with crushing weight. He couldn't help letting out a scream of absolute, primal terror as massive jaws cracked open in front of his face, a blast of hot breath making him squeeze his eyes shut, unable to bear watching as the beast ripped his head off.

And then the terrific weight crushing his chest was suddenly less, and he cracked his eyes open with surprise – to see Brock Rumlow grinning viciously down at him.

"What the fu…" was all he got out before the muzzle of his own pistol jammed between his teeth.

"Skye is not yours. She was _never_ yours," Brock said. "She makes her own choices and she _did not choose you_. I'm doing this so that she doesn't have to spend her life looking over her shoulder wondering when you'll crop up again to terrorise her and the people she cares about."

Ward's eyes widened. And Brock pulled the trigger.

Skye shut her eyes. Turned her head against Tony's armoured shoulder. Heard Tony mutter "Well, shit," before he began to lower them to the ground.

It was the tiger who came to Skye's side. She reached for him, ran her fingers into the thick fur. Wondered if Brock was afraid to face her in human form because of what he'd just done. She looked past him at the body lying on the ground. "Thank you," she said softly, leaning against Blake's massive shoulder. He didn't purr as he usually did when she touched him, just stood still, head hanging low, as Tony took off and left them alone.

"Come back to me," Skye begged, dropping to her knees before him, reaching to press her hands on either side of the huge face, gazing into the slit-pupilled golden eyes. "Come back to me, Brock. Please. I love Blake but I need _you_ now. I'm glad you did it, so glad he's dead. Please come back."

The shift seemed slow, painfully slow, but then Brock was there on his knees before her, her hands on his stubbled cheeks, his eyes agonised. "Skye," he whispered softly.

"Brock," she sobbed it. "Oh God." Her hands dropped from his face – and then she saw the blood pouring down his left arm in a thick, fast-flowing scarlet river as he slowly keeled over.

Brock opened his eyes to a white ceiling and a beeping noise. Suddenly, horribly certain he was back in HYDRA's experimental labs, he shot to his feet, monitoring cables tearing from his chest, an IV ripping out of his arm.

"Brock!" Skye's shocked cry froze him, and he whirled in a catlike crouch to see her standing up from a chair on the other side of the bed.

"Skye," he vaulted over the bed in an easy bound, seized her in his arms. "What _happened_?" He remembered killing Ward – and then everything was blank.

"Ward shot you. Severed your brachial artery, just pure bad luck... Jemma thinks that the fact that you shifted three times – tiger, to man, to tiger, to man again – might be the only thing that stopped you from bleeding out." She snuggled close to him, pressing her head on his chest. "We nearly lost you, Brock. _I _nearly lost you." Skye could hardly bear to think about the agonising minutes before Jemma had come belting up out of the tunnels. Thank God for Tony and JARVIS; JARVIS had guided Tony in where to clamp his metal fingers down until Jemma arrived.

A regular human would almost certainly have died, or at the very least lost the arm, Jemma told Skye in awed reverence a few hours later; but Brock was already healing fast. He plucked now at the white bandage over his bicep, ripping it away to see a neatly stitched incision, already healing over.

"I hardly felt a thing," he marvelled.

"Yes, well, apparently your pain receptors are malfunctioning," Skye said crossly, angry now her fear for him had passed. "What were you _thinking_, to change and charge him down like that? Stark could have blown him up without you ever going _near_ him!"

Brock shrugged a bit sheepishly. "Instinct? He wanted _you_," he tried to explain himself, "it was – I felt it was a direct challenge to me. Letting someone else take care of it would have been _wrong_."

"You mad, reckless idiot," tears were running down her face now, "don't you ever dare do anything like that to me again, or I'll…"

He shut her up with his mouth.

Ten minutes later they were sitting on the bed, Skye curled in his lap, telling him everything that had happened after he blacked out. Their colleagues had found nineteen young women down in the tunnels, all but two of them pregnant, and a dozen kids under the age of five. Coulson had made the decision to call in the FBI, but since SHIELD were still underground they cleared out before the authorities arrived and the Avengers took the credit for the raid. They handed Quinn over to the FBI and he was being held on enough charges to see him jailed for about ten lifetimes. The women and children were taken to a safe place and Stark had already endowed a foundation to take care of them all for life.

"Good," Brock murmured, his arms tightening around her. "Shit, I knew Ward was a sick puppy, but that he – and Zabo! – wanted you for _that_…"

Skye shuddered. "Well, now I know what my father _really_ wanted with me," she said, her voice small but steady. "He thought I was good for nothing more than breeding a new generation. And he wanted _you_ to play stud."

He nuzzled gently at her neck, scenting her. "I wouldn't mind playing stud for _you_. If you were willing," he murmured. "Animal instincts again, I'm afraid." His big hand splayed over her flat stomach. "I'd very much like our baby to be safe in here, one day."

She couldn't help but smile. "Maybe one day." She couldn't help but visualise Brock with their child, a dark-haired moppet on his knee – playing with his tiger form. Her eyes widened. "As long as I don't have to have a whole litter all at once."

His laughter rolled through the medical bay.

**For those of you who might have been a little disappointed that Ward and Cal died so quickly and Quinn is still alive…**

**I really can't write gore and blood and torture. It's not my thing. And it strikes me that slow, painful, torturous deaths are something the bad guys do. Quinn's going to spend the rest of his life in federal prison for what he did to those young women – and remember he shot Skye on Garrett's orders in the first place, it wasn't his idea.**


	32. Promises To Keep

**Chapter Thirty-Two – Promises To Keep**

Three days later, Steve Rogers turned up at the Playground. Brock was fully expecting him, and was prepared to make good on the deal he'd offered Rogers right back at the beginning. He and Skye had spent the intervening time investigating possible leads using Skye's hacking skills and additional computing power provided by JARVIS, and Brock had a few damn good ideas of where to start looking for the Winter Soldier.

Skye didn't want him to go – or wanted to go with him – but she understood that he felt he owed Steve. And Barnes, indeed. Brock had gone down on his knees and _begged_ her to stay behind, telling her that Barnes might still be very dangerous and he didn't want to risk her; besides, he and Steve would be travelling at a pace and intensity that would be brutal even on them and all she would do would slow them down.

"You'll get me home quicker by being here giving us computer support, angel," he murmured against her hair, in their last few moments of privacy before he had to leave.

"You won't do anything reckless?"

"My reckless days are well and truly over, I promise. I've got too much to live for now." He kissed her, long and slow. "I'll be back before you know it."

They opened the door to see Steve talking with Jemma in the corridor, both of them barely looking at each other, blushing shyly.

"And when you get back," Skye said thoughtfully, "we should do something about that."

Brock grinned. "It might make Cap a bit less uptight, anyway."

"Tell me about what they did to him," Steve asked, one night after they'd made a decision to stop and rest. They were travelling incognito, just a pair of regular guys on motorbikes, the helmet making it a lot easier for Steve to stay unrecognised. They'd been following Barnes' trail, finding a number of burned-out HYDRA safehouses and slaughtered agents on the way.

Crashing in a seedy motel, they lay side by side on two battered single beds.

Brock, on the verge of sleep – after five days' straight travel since their last stop, even he was tired – sighed and rolled over to face Steve. "I can tell what you're worryin' about. No one laid a finger on him sexually, from what I know, and anyone tryin' would probably have had the damn finger bitten off. The guy who was his handler before me hit him once – stupid fucker – and Winter turned around and broke his arm like it was a twig."

Steve's mouth quirked in a weary smile. "Good."

"Yeah, well. There was no expression on his face when he did it, it was like crushin' a bug. I'll be honest, I was fuckin' terrified of him after that. I'm not sure why they made me his handler. Maybe because I actually spoke to him like he was a human being, hoping he might take to me a bit, not crush _me_ like a bug if I had to give him an order he didn't like. Nobody else did. They treated him like a vicious attack dog, needed to be muzzled and kept on a tight chain."

For a long moment Steve was silent, and then he said quietly "Thank you."

"Fuck, don't _thank_ me!" Brock pushed himself to sit up. "I've done some terrible things, Cap! I ordered _him_ to do terrible things. I told him to _kill_ you."

"Yeah," Steve didn't move from his prone position. "I know. But there's at least two sides in any war, Rumlow, and it's not always clear if you're on the right side when you're deep in the trenches. Especially not if the bastards are playing in your head."

Brock collapsed to lie down again, stared at the ceiling. "I'm not sure what the right side is even now," he confessed in a low voice. "I know – a lot of what I did was wrong. But I don't know which of my orders came from SHIELD and which from HYDRA. I don't fuckin' _know_, Cap, and it scares me. My moral compass feels like it's spinnin' round and round – the only true north I have is Skye, and she's mixed-up and scared herself, with her new powers and shit."

Steve rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. "That girl's got her priorities straight," he said quietly, "because first and foremost, I think, she believes in Coulson. And much though I'm still kinda mad with him, I believe he's heading in the right direction. You follow along after both of them and you'll stay on the right path."

"I hope so." He rolled his head, met Steve's eyes. "Because I'd follow Skye anywhere."

Steve smiled. "You'll be all right, Rumlow."

He fell asleep with the words ringing in his head like a kind of benediction. Woke up to a message on his phone with a selfie gif of Skye saying she loved him and blowing kisses.

Steve, coming out of the bathroom, saw his fond smile and grinned. "You are so gone on that girl, it's nauseating."

"Fuck off." Brock didn't look up from his phone screen, playing the message again. "Get your own girl to mope over."

Steve's silence was telling, and Brock spoke without looking at him. "Or have you already got one? Saw the way you looked at Simmons. Hear you always did have a weakness for an English accent."

"You asshole," Steve said without heat.

Brock finally put the phone down, picked up his boots and yanked them on. "So Skye tells me. But she loves me anyway. You gonna make a move on Jemma? Because Skye loves her like a sister so it'd be down to me to give you the shovel talk."

"You and what army?" Steve snorted.

"Me and Skye, bud. She sure showed you what was what."

Steve winced at the memory of Skye's power sending him flying, his whole body quaking. "You two are a damn formidable team," he muttered as they left the motel room.

"And don't you forget it," Brock's smile was feral. "Now let's go find your buddy so I can get back to my girl, and you can finally get the guts up to ask Jemma for a date."

"Oh, stow it," Steve gave him a friendly shoulder nudge. Brock pushed back and it degenerated into a laughing shoving match all the way over to their motorbikes.

They were both distracted and didn't notice the dark figure watching them from a shadowed doorway. Not until they'd separated, and Brock was just swinging a leg over his bike, did his sensitive nose suddenly twitch.

"Cap!" he grabbed for the gun at the small of his back, the most easily accessible considering all their weapons had to be concealed for travel. It had barely cleared the holster when an inexorable grip closed on his wrist.

"_You_," a low voice hissed, ice-blue eyes staring into his. "I won't go back."

"You don't have to," Brock said steadily, trying not to wince as the bones of his wrist grated together. He was strong, but the Winter Soldier's arm was something else. "I ain't with HYDRA. I'm with your buddy there." He nodded past Barnes' shoulder.

"Bucky," Steve said quietly. "It's true. Let him go. We're not here to hurt you."

Slowly, the crushing grip eased. Barnes moved back, the better to see them both – Brock could hardly believe he'd turned his back on Steve anyway. He looked terrible, thin to the point of emaciation, eyes sunken into his bearded face. The metal arm squeaked as gears whirred.

For long, painful moments, blue eyes met blue. And then Barnes said "Heard you were lookin' for me, punk."

There was nothing friendly about the tone. But the last word made Steve smile. "Yeah. Lookin' to bring you home."

"Don't know where that is any more."

Brock winced at the painful honesty of the flatly spoken words. Steve, though, seemed prepared for this.

"I know. It's been a long time, things have changed. But it's always been you an' me against the world, Buck, that's never going to change. To the end of the line, remember?"

Barnes stilled. Stared at Steve from behind his matted, tangled dark hair. And then, slowly, one corner of his mouth twitched in what might, possibly, have been an effort to smile. It was painful to watch, as though the muscles his face should have used to smile had long since atrophied. "Yeah, Stevie. I remember," he said very quietly.

"Then hop on." Steve patted the seat behind him. "Let me take you home."

Brock told himself very firmly that there _weren't_ tears in his eyes. He was just glad to be heading home to Skye, that was all, as he watched Barnes lean on Steve's broad back through the long miles back to the Playground.

The team were waiting for them on their arrival, and Brock and Steve had called ahead and made it clear that Barnes had to be everyone's first priority. Steve had told Barnes about Jemma, the fond note in his voice making Barnes' mouth twist in that painful effort at a smile again, though he even tried to joke.

"She might prefer me, Stevie. Dames always did."

"Yeah, well. Just try stealin' this one away and see what that gets you," Steve said wryly, grinning as he met Brock's laughing glance.

And so, when Jemma was first to them, rushing forward with her usual heedless regard for her own safety, Steve's quick "This is Jemma, Bucky," restrained Barnes' first impulse to catapult off the motorbike and strangle her.

"Hey," Bucky said wearily as Steve and Brock carefully manhandled him off the bike and laid him on the waiting stretcher, "she's gorgeous, Stevie. You didn't tell me that. He always did have good taste," he told Jemma, who blushed absolutely scarlet and looked at Steve with wide eyes before gesturing to him to push the stretcher. "I'm sure he's been too shy to make a move yet," Bucky told Jemma as they started moving, she placing gentle fingers on his human arm to check his pulse, "so let me talk him up for ya first…"

Brock found himself chuckling as the door swung closed behind them, and then suddenly his arms were full of Skye, who threw herself at him and started kissing him as though the world was about to end.

"Mm. Mm, angel, God, yeah, let's take this somewhere private…"

"I guess debriefing's going to have to wait," Coulson murmured to May as they watched Rumlow scoop Skye up in his arms and carry her inside, their lips still plastered together.

Hunter snickered behind him. "I don't think debriefing's going to wait for anything, actually."

Bobbi punched him in the arm.

"Missed you."

"Missed you _so fucking much_…"

They were tearing at each other's clothes. Skye had sensibly only put on a lightweight dress and not even bothered with underwear, but Brock was still wearing his motorcycle leathers and had to fight his way out of them. And then they were coming together in a frantic rush, groaning with pleasure as skin finally met skin again. Brock couldn't get enough, his hands and mouth all over Skye, and she was equally desperate for him, pushing him down on the bed and straddling him.

"Oh no, not this time, we're not going slowly. I _need_ you."

"Whatever you want angel _ohhh_," his eyes closed with ecstasy as she slid slickly down on him. "_Damn_, you're wet."

"Been thinking about you. Dreaming about you, _wanting_ you. I know we've talked every day but it's not _enough_." She leaned down and kissed his chest, her mouth hot and wet, and he ran his fingers into her hair and looked into her dark eyes, his hips rocking against her.

"I know. I'll never leave you so long again, I swear it."

Skye smiled. "Not that you didn't look very sexy on that bike."

"I'll take you for a ride any time you like, babe." He laughed up at her, let go of her hair and took her hips in his strong hands, lifting and lowering her, taunting her with slow strokes of his rigid cock. Skye moaned, leaning back into the thrusts, her slender fingers wrapping around his wrists. "Did you think about me, angel? Touch yourself and come with my name on your lips?"

She'd refused to send him any intimate images, to which he didn't object. Even with her security precautions, if his phone had somehow fallen into the wrong hands – well, images of his Skye like that seen by anyone else would have driven him to a killing rage. It hadn't stopped him thinking about it, though, nor a few whispered late-night conversations that had seen him taking more than a few cold showers.

"Yes," she moaned as he rotated his hips, ground deep inside her. "But it doesn't feel as good, not like you – not as _satisfying_ – oh God, Brock, please don't stop!"

"Not stopping, angel," he couldn't even if he'd wanted to. Her walls were tightening around him in a sucking, milking grasp as her head fell back, and he could already feel his barbs emerging. "Unnn," his eyes closed, his back bowed as the first hot pulse surged out of him. "Dammit, babe," he couldn't help but chuckle breathlessly a couple of minutes later, as she lay on his chest, both of them still shuddering with pleasure, "you make me feel like a horny teenager again."

Skye giggled against his throat. "I know you're a fan of the slow build but sometimes quick and dirty is just perfect too."

"You're not wrong there." He stroked her back gently, enjoying just holding her. "You're always perfect, angel. Always."

She shook her head. "Hardly! Nobody's perfect, Brock."

"Perfect for me, I meant." His strong fingers combed lightly through her hair. "Strong enough to stand up to me. Not afraid to tell me when I'm being an asshole."

He felt her smile against his neck. "Regularly, then?"

"Thank you," he said dryly, and then reverted to his soft, loving tone. "Beautiful enough to make me lose my breath every time I look at you."

"Oh stop it." She was blushing, tried to wriggle off him since he'd finally softened inside her, but he rolled them over, pinning her down and looking into her eyes.

"I mean it Skye, every word. You are my sky, my sun and moon and stars, you're the centre of everything to me. I don't even want to think about living without you."

Gazing up into his golden eyes, seeing his utter sincerity, Skye lost the urge to be embarrassed. Her fingers brushed his stubbled cheek lightly.

"You'll never have to, I promise," she whispered softly.

**Only two more posts to go in this fic, one more chapter (of smut, basically) and the Epilogue! Are you gonna miss Rumlow?**


	33. A New Beginning

**Chapter Thirty-Three – A New Beginning**

_Three weeks later_

"Everything's quiet," Coulson told Brock. "And with Barnes getting better and Steve staying here to keep an eye on him – plus computer support from Stark – we can do without you two for a few days. Just keep that satphone on."

"I will. You haven't told Skye?"

"Not a hint, I promise," Coulson grinned. "Have fun, and bring her back safe."

He didn't want to shoot her with a tranq dart this time. So instead he persuaded Jemma to supply him with something he could drop into the cup of chamomile tea Skye liked to drink every evening before bed, handed it to her with a smile as he sat down beside her on the couch in their small living quarters. It was a tiny couch, but that was fine by him, as it meant she snuggled against his side even as she sipped her tea and glanced over things on her tablet.

"Mm," Skye sighed, setting the cup down. "Good." She paged through a couple more screens. Blinked as the text seemed to blur before her eyes. "I feel really tired all of a sudden," she murmured.

"Do you?" there was a laugh in his voice. She looked up, tried to focus. Only caught the wicked gleam in his golden eyes.

"Brock, you asshole, what did you do?" she tried to say, but her tongue suddenly didn't work. He caught her as she slumped against his shoulder.

xoxoxoxox

Skye woke slowly, blinking her eyes open. Staring up at the ceiling in confusion. It was rough wooden planks, not the plain white paint of her room at the Playground, nor the smooth grey panels of the Bus.

_Where the fuck am I?_

Her arms were flung up beside her head and a little numb; she tried to bring them down and to her horror heard a clink of chain. She thrashed, twisting, and screamed when she realised that she was chained to a bed, heavy shackles around both wrists and ankles.

"BROCK, YOU ASSHOLE!" And then she burst out laughing.

He came in, grinning. Folded his arms over his broad – bare – chest, raised a black eyebrow in that maddening way of his as he looked down at her. "Don't like my surprise, angel?"

"You are _such_ an asshole," but she couldn't stop the laughter. "Let me out of here."

"Oh no." He unfolded his arms, leaned over her, traced a finger down between her breasts – and Skye realised with a shudder of desire that unlike the last time she'd woken in this situation, she was stark naked. "I've got you right where I want you. Been dreaming of this so long, I'm not quite willing to let you go _just_ yet."

She licked her lips as he traced his fingertips lightly around her breasts. "Do you want me to beg?" her voice came out breathy, high-pitched, the urge to laugh gone as the familiar electricity of his touch raced through her.

"Oh, you'll beg, princess," his voice was a low, sensual rasp as he put one knee on the bed, leaned over and smirked wickedly at her. "You'll beg."

Skye moaned as his mouth closed hotly over one already peaked nipple, his rough, wet tongue swirling around the tight bud. "Don't – call – me – princess," she managed to get out, but the defiance she'd planned to inject into the words was completely absent. And then his fingers closed on the other nipple, pinching and tugging, and she could only moan his name.

"_My_ princess," Brock whispered, kissing down her stomach. "My queen. My goddess, my angel – my Skye."

The first plea exploded from her lips less than a minute later, as he traced his tongue lightly up her inner thigh. He only laughed darkly, nipped her gently and carried on his torturously slow pace.

She was sweating and sobbing, her hair a tangled mess around her face as her head thrashed from side to side. It felt so good, so _insanely_ good, but she couldn't touch him, couldn't feel anything but his hot mouth, his wickedly knowing hands.

"Please! Brock, please, god, I need – I _need_ you!" she sobbed out as he brought her right up to that razor edge for a third time. If he didn't let her come this time she – well, she didn't know what she'd do, but…

He bit her clit lightly even as three hard fingers plunged deep inside her, crooking to hit right on that most sensitive spot, and Skye screamed, her whole body arching, the chains clinking as she instinctively fought against them.

Brock hummed with pleasure as he lapped, Skye's juices flooding his mouth as she came _hard_ under him, her tight tunnel squeezing his fingers. He wasn't about to let up on her either, keeping up a light circling motion with the tips of his fingers as he continued to work her clit with his tongue, listening to her soft cries with enjoyment. He'd had a fresh shave so he wouldn't chafe her, planned to keep this up for a good while yet. Until…

"Please let me suck your cock," Skye begged deliriously.

"_Unh_," Brock's whole body jerked. "That's playing dirty," he muttered a bit breathlessly, coming up for air.

"Says the one who's _not_ shackled to _ahhhhh_," Skye shuddered as he plunged his fingers harder into her. "Brock, please," it was a broken whimper. "Want it. Want your cock in my mouth. Please."

He felt about ready to burst, swore under his breath. Got up and jerked off his cargo pants before kneeling down above her head. "Not gonna let up on you," he warned, moving his hands to rest beside her hips before lowering the tip of his cock towards her temptingly parted lips. Watching her reach up eagerly for it, her pink tongue coming out to lick around the head before it disappeared between her lips, was about the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. He groaned at the sensation of warm wetness engulfing him before bending to his own task, using his tongue and lips to bring her back to the peak of pleasure once more.

She couldn't use her hands, only her mouth, and it was hard to concentrate with what he was doing with his own mouth down between her legs. But Skye was determined to have a little payback, working Brock's thick cock back in her mouth until he hit the back of her throat, and then she swallowed and _hummed_ around him.

"_Jesus Christ!_" he pulled out of her mouth so sharply she nearly got whiplash, and then he was twisting around, settling himself between her thighs with his golden eyes flaring, the pupils so huge and dark she could only see a bright ring of gold around the edge.

"Fucking witch," he choked out, sliding his hands under her bottom. The chains on her ankles were loose enough – this time around – that she could raise her knees to bracket his hips, which she did now, a knowing smile on her lips. "Nearly came down your throat then. Coulda choked you. Don't do that again…" although his barbs hadn't begun to emerge. Seemed his body knew when they were meant to come out. _Maybe he really could let her suck him off_ – he pushed the thought aside for now, sank slowly into her with a groan of pleasure.

"Brock," Skye whimpered as he bowed his back, suckled at her nipple. Kissed his way up her chest until he could lick at the tender flesh below her ear. "So close. Please. So close."

"I know. Me too," he groaned hotly against her throat. "You feel so good, angel, _so_ good." His lean hips were pumping, a swift, rolling rhythm that was hitting absolutely perfectly against all her most sensitive spots, and then he leaned back, brought a hand in between them and started working her clit again.

Skye's head tipped back, the long, lovely line of her throat exposed, and Brock watched spellbound as her lips parted and she _wailed_ out his name.

"That's it, angel, oh fu-u-uck," he growled it out, feeling his feral side begin to surface as she started to clench around him. "Fuck, _yes_!" All that long white throat was too tempting: he couldn't help himself. As his barbs began to prickle and the first hot spurt blasted up through his cock, he bent his head and set his teeth at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

The small pain as he bit her unexpectedly increased Skye's pleasure exponentially. She jerked and sobbed beneath him, her climax going on and on, not decreasing in intensity as heat surged again and again into her core and his barbs teased yet further ecstasy from her, even when she thought there was surely nothing else left to give.

There was a perfect impression of his teeth in her shoulder when Brock lifted his head, and he kissed it guiltily, whispering that he was sorry.

"Don't you _dare_ apologise," Skye gasped, her body still clenching around him.

He smiled and kissed her again, holding her close until both their bodies had relaxed. And then he reached out to let her out of the shackles.

She pulled on one of his T-shirts to stumble to first the bathroom, then the kitchen to get a glass of water. Going back into the bedroom, she was so distracted by the sight of him lying nude and gloriously muscular on the bed that she managed to stub her toe.

"Ow, ow, ow!" she hopped on one foot, almost spilling the water until he reached out and took it from her hand, pulling her back onto the bed. "What the _hell_ is that doing there?" she glared at the metal weapons case lying on the floor.

"Oh," he set the glass down on the chest by the bed, grinned at her. "That's the other part of my surprise."

Skye stared suspiciously as he lifted the case up onto the bed and cracked it open. And then her mouth dropped open with shock, because instead of the guns, knives and shocksticks normally stored there with his weapon harness coiled neatly atop them – the case was filled with brand-new, still-in-their-packaging sex toys.

"I already know you like the shackles," Brock's grin was positively evil. "Thought I could take the time to find out what else drives you crazy."

"Brock!" she gaped at him.

"Just making damn sure that I've ruined you for any other man, angel," he pressed her down to the mattress, his mouth seeking hungrily over hers.

"You already did, you idiot," she told him softly as his hands eased up under the T-shirt. "You don't need clever tricks and toys to get me addicted to you. I already am." Glancing at the open case, she couldn't help but lick her lips. "Although – I'm not going to object if you're set on the idea…"

His laugh was wicked.

**Back where it all started… there's just the Epilogue left now.**


	34. Epilogue (Happily Ever After)

**Epilogue – Happily Ever After (of course)**

**And TigerQuake babies. Because SO MUCH BEGGING, LOL.**

It was about a month after their return to the Playground when Skye bolted out of bed at first light one morning and retched her guts up in the bathroom.

Brock was there in an instant, holding her hair back from her face, running cool water over a cloth and holding it to the back of her neck, crooning endearments as she collapsed back into his arms.

"Skye! Baby, are you all right? Was there something at dinner that disagreed with you? Shit, it was Hunter's turn to cook – if he's poisoned the others too I'd better go check on everyone…"

"You go do that," Skye muttered wearily, letting him help her up so she could rinse her mouth out, carry her back to bed.

Twenty minutes later he returned and stood over her, arms folded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't sure how to say it," she mumbled guiltily, peering up at him from behind the blanket she'd pulled up to her eyes, "without making it sound like your fault."

She'd begun to suspect about a fortnight earlier, when the nausea began, although today was the first time she'd actually vomited. A slightly panicked consultation with Jemma confirmed it. Her IUD was gone – just _gone_. And Brock's barbs apparently really did have the function of stimulating ovulation. Because despite the Depo shot and the morning-after pill, she was about eight weeks pregnant, by Jemma's best estimate. It could even have happened that very first time up at the cabin.

"It _is_ my fault."

"No it isn't," she returned mulishly. "You can't help what HYDRA did to you."

Brock stared at her – or her eyes, which were all that was visible at the moment – before sighing and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She lowered the blanket and curled towards him, and he put a hand on her back, stroking gently.

"Jemma was surprised you hadn't told me yet."

Skye lay quietly, letting him soothe her with his touch for a couple of minutes, before she finally spoke. "I was afraid you'd suggest we get rid of it."

"What?" he went rigid instantly. "No! Shit. That wouldn't be for me to decide, anyway! Do you want to?"

His tone went from shocked, to angry, to confused, to defensive, to pleading so fast that Skye couldn't help but smile.

"No. Whatever this baby turns out to be, Brock, he's _ours_. Yours and mine. I won't love him any the less if he's not quite one hundred percent normal human."

"_Him_?" His voice was an awed whisper as he slid down on the bed beside her, placed his hand reverently over her still-flat stomach. "You know?"

"Not yet," she smiled, placed her hand over his. "I just don't like saying 'it'. And considering how sick I feel, I think it must be a boy. Inconsiderate male."

He chuckled at that. Eased further down the bed and kissed where his hand had just rested. "Well. That's settled then."

"What is?"

"You'll _have_ to marry me now."

"Excuse _me_!" her eyes flew wide. They hadn't even _mentioned_ marriage thus far.

His grin was masculine as he looked up at her. "I'm gonna make very sure baby Rumlow knows who his – or her – daddy is, sweetheart. You haven't even _got_ a last name. Or not one you care to acknowledge."

That was – quite true. She narrowed her eyes at him anyway. "If you think I'm saying yes to that _pathetic_ excuse for a proposal, you've got another think coming."

He only smiled, and kissed her stomach again. And did much better later that night, when she got back to their room to find the bed covered in red rose petals, an invitation on the pillow to a picnic in the forest. It was Blake the tiger waiting for her there, a collar – a _collar_! – around his majestic neck (she found out later he'd allowed Coulson close enough to put it on, and couldn't help the tears – she blamed pregnancy hormones) with a ring box dangling from it.

The ring inside was beautiful, an entwined double spiral of black and white diamonds, nothing obtrusive that would catch on her clothes or get in her way. Skye sobbed, slipping it onto her finger, throwing her arms around Blake's neck, and then it was Brock holding her, pressing kisses on her hair.

"Did I get it right this time?"

"Perfect," she sniffled into his neck. "Just perfect."

They married four weeks later, in the presence of all their friends. Coulson gave Skye away, of course, and Brock rather hesitantly asked Steve to be his best man, surprised as hell when Steve gave him a shocked look and said of course he would. That way he'd get to dance with the maid of honour. He did, too, dancing Jemma almost off her feet before Natasha and Bucky pushed them into a closet and shut the door with identical eye-rolls that clearly said _About bloody time too_.

Skye and Brock didn't even notice, dancing lost in each other's eyes. Coulson had a bit of a misty look in his own eyes, watching them, barely noticed when May came up beside him until she spoke.

"Who'd have guessed that Skye being kidnapped again would turn out like this?"

"Not me," he agreed, remembering that awful day when they'd realised she was gone without a trace. "I never thought we'd get her back safely. Never mind get Rumlow on our side in the bargain."

"She does have that gift of making people believe in her. Much like someone else I know."

Phil turned to smile at May. Noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing the silver dress she'd worn when they went undercover that one time. "Have I told you yet how utterly amazing you look in that dress?"

She looked surprised for an instant, and then smiled. "No. You could say it again though, if you like."

He smiled. "As often as you like – if you'll give me a dance."

xoxoxooxoxox

"Philip James Rumlow, get your bottom back here so I can paddle it!" Skye shouted.

Brock looked up from chopping the vegetables. "You know he's not going to come with that threat hanging over him."

She scowled at him. "Go and get your son."

"Yes, ma'am," there was the usual laugh in his voice, but ten minutes later the half-grown tiger was dropped on the floor. Taking up a significant amount of the space in the kitchen.

Skye stood with her hands on her hips, glaring. "What have I told you about not winding your sister up? The money to pay for that shattered window is coming out of your pocket money, young man!"

The tiger hung its head sheepishly, and then there was a ten-year-old boy sitting on the floor, dark head hanging, golden eyes downcast. "Didn't mean it, Mum."

"I know." She bent to ruffle his sleek black hair. "But it's still coming out of your pocket money and you're still going to say you're sorry. You _know_ how much of a pain it is to repair things when we're up here at the cabin. You can help your father install the new window, too."

"I will."

A slight shuffling noise behind him made Philip turn, look up at his sister. "'M sorry, Toni."

Antoinette May Rumlow frowned down at her younger brother. "Just don't aggravate me like that again. Brat."

There were only eleven months between them in age. After two babies in a year, Skye had demanded that Jemma remove her fallopian tubes entirely. Any more children would come via medical intervention and in her own time, not because of Brock's feline biology.

Of course, once she had discovered that she rather _missed_ being pregnant, actually…

A pair of hefty tiger cubs play-wrestled their way into the kitchen, tangling around Skye's feet and almost tripping her up. "Girls!" she yelled, having to hold onto the counter to keep her balance until Brock stooped to grab the cubs by the scruffs, picking them up and letting out a warning growl.

The cubs resolved into the three-year-old twins, Stephanie and Roberta. Seven-year-old Jemma came hurrying in behind them, the baby in her arms. "Sorry, Mum, they changed and escaped while I was playing with Leo…"

"Everybody out or nobody's going to get any lunch!" Skye yelled. The kitchen window trembled ominously.

Toni and Philip took charge at once, ushering the younger children off. Probably taking them all out to the forest where all the young tigers could go romp together. They'd be back when they got hungry enough.

Brock chuckled, came over to where Skye slumped against the counter and took the spatula she'd been brandishing like a weapon out of her hand. "Are you regretting that decision to have six kids now?"

She looked up into his golden eyes. Smiled. He was so beautiful to her still; hadn't aged a day in the last decade. Whatever HYDRA had done to him, he still looked just the same. _She'd_ changed; while she wasn't aging at a normal rate, five pregnancies had filled her out, given her womanly curves Brock insisted only increased his desire for her. "Only the fact that they've all inherited that aggravating tendency of yours to drive me crazy."

He reached behind her and turned off the stove. "They'll not notice if lunch is a bit late. Come and let me remind you that you actually really like it when I drive you crazy."

Skye laughed as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her off to their bedroom. The cabin was almost unrecognisable now, four times larger than it used to be to accommodate their growing family and far more luxurious. Their bed was still the same sturdy wrought-iron frame, though. And, carefully hidden from prying childish eyes, he still kept shackles to remind her of just who she belonged to. Kicking the door shut behind him, he laid Skye tenderly on the bed, reached for the shackles to snap them around her wrists.

"Brock," Skye couldn't help but moan as he kissed and licked his way down her throat. "Lunch is gonna be _really_ late if you keep that up."

He only laughed wickedly and kept going.

**THE END**

(A quick note on the wedding rings I chose for Brock and Skye – I thought they were utterly perfect because of the tiger-like pattern and the black and white diamonds. They're real rings and the metal is called _mokume-gane_, which is a specially made alloy. My other career as a silversmith is showing, though I couldn't make anything as good as those. Yet. If you want to see the images you'll need to check them out on Ao3 or I'm also posting them on my tumblr, which is ozhawkauthor.)

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this entertaining little fantasy tale of mine. I have faithfully promised (and been promising for a while) to finish off a whole BUNCHA other stories I have going before I start anything new. And also to write the continuance for Jemma/Bucky, which I really will get round to one of these days. I'm not done with Brock Rumlow just yet, though. There's another story brewing in my backbrain for him and Skye, in another Soulmarks 'verse. Possibly involving Clint as a third. If I sort it out, I might write it eventually. And I am blaming CeliaEquus and PinkPandoracorn for the Rumlow/Hunter/Darcy plot that won't quite go away.**

**Who am I kidding, I will **_**definitely**_** write them both eventually. Rumlow won't get out of my head, the sexy beast, he's worse than Deadpool.**

**I would truly love to hear what you thought of this fic, which was your favourite part, if I've kind of made you fall a bit for Rumlow even though we all know he's a bad guy really, damn his stupid sexy self…**

**Lots of love and see you in another fictional Marvel 'verse sometime soon,**

**ozhawk**

**March 2015**


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